


Deconstructing This Apocalypse

by TristansGirl



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Dubious Consent to Non-Con, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-05
Updated: 2011-06-05
Packaged: 2017-10-20 04:33:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/208775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TristansGirl/pseuds/TristansGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the future, in a decimated world, science has advanced enough to give men the ability to bear children. It is in this world that Adam and Tommy meet, a chance encounter that leads them both on a journey that will change their lives. And possibly the future of the entire human race</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started this story in another fandom about three years ago. Got two chapters in, realized that no one cared and scrapped it. But the idea never left me. When it was time to do the Big Bang, I realized that it just might be time to give this story new life. So here it is, polished and brand new and hopefully all the better for it. - I REALLY HESITATE TO CALL CALL WHAT HAPPENS IN THIS STORY RAPE, IT IS DEFINITELY, AT THE VERY LEAST DUB-CON, BUT I REALIZE SOME WILL HAVE A VERY STRONG REACTION TO IT. I URGE YOU TO GIVE THE STORY A TRY REGARDLESS, BUT I UNDERSTAND IF YOU DON'T

_There’s no one left that remembers._

 _Not even the oldest of the old-timers, the ones with crooked spines and rheumy eyes. Not even they remember what it’s like to have women as friends. Sisters. Mothers._

 _Lovers._

 _After the plague, many stepped forward to help rebuild this world, to reshape it into what it is today. They died, and their legacy lived._

 _And what was once fact became something that is near fiction._

 _Women as myth._

 _Women as legend._

I’m twenty-five and this world is all I know. All I’ve ever known. And when the guy across the bar from me catches my eye, I can’t help but perk up with interest.

And when the guy smiles a shy, lopsided smile that starts my heart thumping a little bit faster . . .

Well, what can I say?

A smile like that is an invitation.

And I never turn down an invitation.

I make my way over to him, appraising as I go. From a distance I can tell that he’s slim, small. A shock of blond hair hangs down over his eyes, obscuring them from me. As I watch, he pushes the hair away with a flick of his wrist, revealing kohl-rimmed eyes dusky with shadow.

That and his smile are enough to get me over to him fairly quickly.

“Mind if I join you?” I ask.

“I was kind of hoping you would.”

I smile and slide onto the barstool next to his. “I’m Adam.”

“I’m Tommy.”

Tommy.

I take a moment to savor the name. Tommy’s even better close up. He’s got full lips and large, doe-shaped brown eyes and lashes to die for. He’d probably be perfect if it weren’t for his nose, just a little crooked. I like it though. It gives his face character, makes him approachable.

“So, you come here often?” I ask.

I nearly cringe when I hear myself say the words. It might just be the lamest line ever and I truly can’t believe it came out of my mouth. I try to recover; giving what I’ve been told is my killer smile.

“My first time ever,” he says. “I just moved out here.”

“No kidding. From where?”

“California.”

“Really? No way! Me too.”

His smile turns bright and sunny. “Really? Wow.”

“What part are you from?”

He wrinkles his nose. “Burbank originally. But I’ve been living in LA for two years.”

“So what brings you to Vegas?”

Tommy shrugs and I watch as his smile dims. “I heard there were jobs. There sure aren’t any in LA. And I needed a change.”

“Yeah, well there aren’t a lot of jobs here either.”

“I’m starting to figure that out.”

“Well, at least we don’t have the earthquakes, right?”

“No. But you’ve got heat that feels like I’m walking around in an oven.”

I laugh. “We’ve got more interesting people here than in LA.”

He leans in, tilts his chin down and gives me a look that nearly short-circuits my brain. “Oh, really?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We get back to my apartment in record time. We’re kissing as we walk in the door; desperate, hungry kisses that are a little too sloppy and a little too wet to be good and yet somehow are.

I manage to kick the door closed with my foot before maneuvering us toward the bedroom. It’s not a big place, just a living room, bedroom and a small kitchen, so it’s easy enough to get to, even when Tommy is all I see.

We make it to the bedroom unscathed, moving right to the edge of the bed. The back of Tommy’s knees hit it and he falls on top of the mattress. Being that he and I are completely intertwined, I follow, landing on top of him hard enough that his breath leaves in a pretty, little gasp.

I whisper that I’m sorry and he whispers that it’s all right, and then we’re right back at it, moving up on the bed so that we’re fully on it and nobody’s legs are dangling off the edge.

It’s all kind of a fumbling mess, especially once I realize that kissing is good, but that touching would be so much better. I grab the hem of Tommy’s shirt and tug. He gets the hint because he helps me to pull it over his head, lifting his arms obligingly. It’s my turn next, and I get my shirt off as fast as I possibly can, tossing it onto the floor in the same general vicinity that I threw Tommy’s.

I pull away for a moment; my hands flat against Tommy’s chest, and enjoy the view. The moonlight sneaking in through the drapes is all the illuminates the room, but I’m all right with that. Tommy’s looks really gorgeous in this light – otherworldly, his pale skin all but glowing.

He moves his own hands up to my chest, his fingertips skimming and sliding over my skin.

“You’re so big. So big. So pretty,” he says, and his voice sounds a little slurred and rough and . . . awed.

It’s my size he’s reacting to, the broad chest and shoulders. The artificial estrogen that gets pumped into our bodies gives most guys a soft, shapely look. Not me. I’m what people like to call a throwback.

I shake my head, wanting to tell him that he’s the pretty one, but then the line of his throat grabs my attention and I find myself descending toward him. I alternate between bestowing little nips and bites along that throat, enjoying his small, hitched moans and the way his fingers clutch at my arms.

It’s not too long before he pushes me away, smiling before he flips us over. Smiling before he helps me to slide my jeans off my hips.

“I want you to know that I’m not usually this easy,” he says.

“Oh really?”

He doesn’t answer, just winks before he lowers his head and takes me into his mouth. And, oh man, it’s good. First time sex tends to be a little awkward, nobody knows what the other likes and you’re always fumbling and bumping into each other.

And testing. Always testing.

But the beer we drank earlier changes everything. It’s an aphrodisiac, not the depressant that it used to be before the sickness. Before the plague. It makes everything feel amazing. Even when Tommy accidentally uses too much teeth or when he loses the rhythm – it still feels like heaven.

My hands are in his hair now, grabbing at the length in the back. I’m tempted to tighten but I don’t know him, I don’t know if it would be welcome. So I keep my hands loose instead, fingers flexing but not hurting.

It doesn’t take long for that to change though, for the sensation to build up until it’s overwhelming. This time I do tug, though away from me, and manage to gasp out his name as a warning. I expect him to pull away, most guys do, but he doesn’t.

I start bucking and moaning like a madman, things that I’d be embarrassed about if I were sober. But I’m not sober and it really doesn’t matter. Besides, I couldn’t control myself even if I wanted to.

He rides it out with me, wrapping his arm around my waist, hand spread out against my skin. After I’ve caught my breath, my heart beating just a little closer to normal, I run my hand over my face and through my hair before looking down. And there’s Tommy, gazing up at me with those large eyes and wearing a self-satisfied smirk that’s barely disguised as a grin. He makes a show of rubbing his fingers over his mouth and asks, “You like?”

I don’t bother with an answer. I shift us around, so that he’s on his back and I’m looming over him. He’s licking his lips, making them slick and shiny in the moonlight. It’s hotter than it should be, that one small movement. I keep that image in mind as I close my eyes and proceed to return the favor.

“Adam.” He doesn’t so much speak my name as exhales it. And that’s sexy as hell too. The way his hands are moving over my back, short nails scraping against the skin. The way his legs are shaking. All of it, so fucking sexy. And just knowing that I’m the one doing this to him, that I’m the one making him come undone.

Swallowing isn’t my favorite, but fair is fair. I hold onto his hips as he shudders and moans, hands pulling at my hair just hard enough to feel good. It takes him a moment to come down from the high, to settle back and go limp. I wait it out, then crawl up to him and kiss him, though this time it’s almost chaste. The alcohol has done its job and is wearing off, leaving us both exhausted.

I manage to open up the covers and slide underneath them, holding them up so that Tommy can do the same. He mumbles a sleepy, “Thank you,” against my arm and then closes his eyes, sinking almost immediately into sleep.

And me, I’m not far behind. I take a moment to gaze down at him, to wonder if he’ll still be here in the morning or if he’s going to leave as soon as he’s conscious.

I’m not even sure which one I’m hoping for.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 _It started out like the flu, nicknamed Light Speed after the unimaginable rate at which it spread._

 _When people contracted it, it hit them hard, put them down for weeks. But eventually, most got better._

 _But not the women. Never the women._

 _None of them. Not the oldest, or the youngest, or the strongest._

 _The history books tell of a time of untold hysteria and confusion. Of mass graves dug out by bulldozers, the bodies dumped in them like so much trash. No time for respect, no time for grieving. Not when half of the entire world was dying._

 _It took only a few months to determine that it was the estrogen. The combination of the virus and the estrogen in women’s bodies was not a good mix. Lethal in fact. Poison._

 _This discovery came inevitably too late._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tommy stayed that morning after. Stayed for pancakes and bad coffee and awkward conversation at the diner down the street. Then he stayed, for the most part, all this time.

Not that he’s always around. He managed to scrape up a job in a grocery store; bagging, I think. He has his own life. I have mine. It’s just that sometimes those lives intersect.

Like now.

“I really don’t want to go to this. Why can’t we just stay here tonight?”

A stranger listening in would probably think that Tommy is shy. But I know better. He’s not shy so much as reserved. Guarded. He keeps his privacy like it was a precious thing. I’ve been seeing him for three months and I still don’t know that much more about him than I did in the beginning. I don’t even know his last name. But really, what does that matter?

I finish buttoning my shirt and walk over to where he’s sitting on the edge of my bed. “It’ll be fun. I promise.”

I expect to see a smile, but instead he looks sullen, serious.

“You shouldn’t make promises unless you know you can keep them.”

Leaning down to him, I rake fingers through his soft hair. “Well, I’m pretty sure I can keep this one. And besides, if you absolutely hate it, we’ll blow out early.”

His hand slides up my leg, stopping just at my hip. He sighs. “I can never say no to that face.”

“Damn right, you can’t. Now let’s go. Everybody’s dying to meet you.”

I hold out my hand. He rolls his eyes, grabs it and we’re on our way.

The house, old and nearly falling apart but still an actual house, is full of people by the time we get there making it easy to meld in effortlessly. It doesn’t take long though before we’re spotted.

“Yo, Adam!”

And just like that, we’re surrounded by people, drinks thrust into our hands, everyone clamoring to meet Tommy.

Parties like this have an ebb and flow to them that are almost predictable so it’s no surprise when Tommy and I are separated, he being pulled away by some very curious, well-meaning friends who obviously intend to interrogate him.

I actually feel sort of sorry for him.

When I search him out a few minutes later, I can see, even from across the room, that he’s in good hands. He’s talking to Isaac and he’s laughing so I know that it can’t be all bad. He glances over my way just then, as if he’d been waiting for me to look. Our eyes meet and he smiles and waves his beer bottle.

I’m not even paying attention to the conversation flowing around me. I’m too busy watching Tommy looking oh so pretty. I’m about two seconds away from walking over to him and claiming him when Brad sidles up beside me.

“Adam.”

“Hey, Brad.”

“So, that’s your guy, huh? No wonder you’ve been hiding him. He’s gorgeous.”

“It’s not like I’ve been keeping him from you guys on purpose. He just doesn’t like to go out much.”

“Whatever. He’s delicious.” Brad flings an arm over my shoulder. “I might steal him from you if you’re not careful.”

“As if you could.”

“It might be worth it just to try.”

I turn to him. “Okay what’s put you in such a good mood?”

A wide smile stretches across his face and I can tell that this is what he wanted to tell me all along.

“Jack and I fucked last night.” He pauses, seems to consider and his smile grows even wider. “Well, I fucked him to be technical about it.”

To say that I’m surprised would be an understatement. I actually splutter as beer all but sprays out of my mouth. “You’re kidding me. Why would you . . . I mean . . . you guys aren’t even really together and . . .”

“Don’t give yourself a conniption, Adam. I pulled out.”

“Brad, you know that’s not even-“

“No, listen. I was really precise. There’s no way that anything could happen. No way.”

I could continue to argue with him, tell him how stupid that was, but what would be the point? He knows the risks. So instead I ask what I’m dying to know. “What was it like?”

At this, Brad stares at me dead-on, smile gone. “It was amazing. It’s so much better than a hand job or a blowjob. It was so tight, but like, in the best way.”

“Yeah, but the consequences.”

“Fuck the consequences. Sometimes you gotta live a little, Adam.”

And with a pat on my shoulder, just like that, he’s gone. I watch him maneuver through the throng of people. For a brief moment it looks like he’s making a beeline for Tommy, but he changes direction at the last minute and I end up losing him in the crowd.

Something about that conversation suddenly makes me feel very protective of Tommy. I excuse myself and walk over to him, looping my arm around his waist.

“Hey,” he says, leaning into my touch.

“Hey. You doing okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, I mean . . . did you want to go?”

He shrugs. “I’m okay. Besides, we just got here. Don’t you want to hang with your friends?”

I plant a small kiss along his temple. “You’re the best, you know that?”

He laughs. “Whatever. You’re so full of shit.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The great thing about beer is that it’s cheap and easy to get and at this party it flows like water. Tommy and I stay later than either of us expected, both of us completely smashed by the time we leave.

We took my car to the party, what I lovingly call my piece of shit, but we’re both too drunk to drive it. We end up taking the bus back to my apartment, ignoring the stares from the people that aren’t as inebriated as we are.

I’ve had a lot to drink, but Tommy’s had more. It’s evident in the way he flops back on the bed, his eyes falling closed; mouth parted slightly, his breathing heavy.

I should just let him sleep. I should. But I want so much. I work at his pants with clumsy hands, pulling them down an inch at a time. Tommy bats at my hands and murmurs, “Tired, Adam.”

I should stop. I should. But it’s like my body is on automatic pilot and no longer in my control. Instead, I tug his jeans off, his underwear, before starting to work on mine. “Want you, babe.” My tongue is thick against my mouth and truthfully, I don’t know if I’m even making intelligible sounds. But my hands are still moving and that’s the important part.

It takes forever, long enough that Tommy’s just about asleep under me, but eventually I manage to get us both naked below the waist. And then I settle in between Tommy’s legs, nudging them open when they don’t comply.

I lick at my hand, get it as sloppy wet as I can, and stroke myself before starting to inch forward.

I think I’ve been moving toward this all night, ever since Brad told me about him and Jack.

Tommy’s body stiffens below me, as if all his muscles have just locked. “Adam, what are you doing?” he asks, sounding much more awake than he did a few seconds ago.

“Sh . . . wanna try something.”

He gets it, gets what I’m trying to do. How could he not, when I’m already pushing at him, the tip of me almost inside.

“No, you can’t . . .”

“I’m gonna pull out. It’s okay.”

“Adam . . . wait.”

Should stop. I should stop. But god, I can’t. “Trust me, Tommy. Gonna feel so good, gonna make you feel so . . . good.”

And on that last word I push forward, inside him at last.

“Oh god,” he groans and then he sighs, falling back, his body relaxing. He’s not fighting me now. Now he’s letting it happen – the hands on my shoulders drawing me in instead of pushing me away.

“I know,” I mumble against the curve of his shoulder, moving with the stuttering coordination of the truly drunk.

Brad was right. So right. This is the most amazing feeling ever; tighter, hotter than anything.

After that there are no more words. We’re reduced to just sounds – skin against skin, harsh breathing, and soft grunts.

I remember, somehow, to pull out before I come. And I do, petting at Tommy’s hair absently, thanking him as I collapse boneless on top of him.

And after that, as the alcohol drags us both down into oblivion, there’s nothing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wake to the feel of hands pushing at my back. I can feel urgency in that touch.

And anger.

A lot of anger.

“Wake the fuck up!”

I turn over, more asleep than awake, to find that Tommy is standing over me. I say his name, my mouth clumsy, tongue catching on those two syllables.

He steps back, his usually placid features so twisted that he’s almost unrecognizable. “You shit! You fucking shit!”

I’ve never seen him this angry. No, scratch that, I’ve never seen him angry at all. I struggle to reconcile this emotion with the Tommy that I’ve come to know.

“Tommy, what-“

“You fucked me last night, Adam.”

Suddenly I’m much more awake, the equivalent of being splashed with cold water. And what felt like such a good idea last night, so right and natural and sexy, is starting to feel like a mistake in the wake of Tommy’s anger.

“Okay, I know, I did but . . .” I extend my hand toward him but he just swats at it as he moves out of my reach.

“Don’t touch me. Don’t . . . just don’t touch me.”

“Tommy, it’s okay. I pulled out. I did.”

He barks out an incredulous laugh. “Pulling out? Oh yeah, like that’s such a tried and true method. Like that always works.”

“Well, Brad said-”

“Brad? What does he have to do with anything?”

I can feel my own frustration building. I can understand why he’s upset, but he’s not letting me talk. If he would only let me explain. “If you would let me get a word in, I could tell you.”

“I did not come to this city to die, Adam. That wasn’t my fucking goal, okay?”

“You’re not going to die, Tommy. You’re not even gonna get pregnant. I pulled out, okay?”

“This is . . . you’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Okay, look I’m sorry. It was a shitty thing to do. I was drunk and I got caught up in the moment and I wasn’t thinking and I . . . I fucked up. I’m sorry.”

It’s not good enough. My apology will not be accepted. His face, stony and cold, tells me that much. He steps away from me, turning on his heel to walk to the bedroom door.

“Wait, Tommy. Wait.”

I jump out of bed and follow him, grabbing his arm only to have him yank it away.

“No,” he snaps. “I can’t do this right now.”

He flings open the door and stalks into the living room. He picks up his keys as he walks, not even breaking stride, and heads for the door.

He’s fully dressed. I’m completely naked. Yet I still follow, feeling a little like an idiot, lagging behind him like a lost puppy.

“We’re not even going to talk about this?” I ask.

He turns around, fixing me with a glare so cold that I can feel its chill on my skin. “I’m done talking.”

Then he opens the door and slips out through it, slamming it shut for good measure.

And me, all I can do is stand here; shell-shocked by how quickly it all went wrong.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 _The history books call it The Reaping._

 _Acts so horrifying that even now their details are glossed over._

 _The books tell of how the survivors of the plague faced down their own extinction. Battered and beaten by their losses, they faced the end of the world with the taste and smell of death all around them._

 _They tell of the monumental decision made by world leaders. Of the riots and protests against that decision._

 _How in the end, there was no choice. In the bodies of the dead and dying, the women and the young girls, there lay the key to life._

 _Unfertilized eggs._

 _In each woman, hundreds. Sometimes, thousands._

 _Millions._

 _If pulled out quickly enough - viable._

 _If pulled out._

 _At first they called it extraction._

 _In the end, they called it The Reaping._

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I never meant to end up in Las Vegas. That was never the plan. Not that I had much of one. It mostly consisted of packing my stuff into my car and driving.

I was born in San Diego, though my parents moved us to Los Angeles when I was five. That’s where I grew up and for the longest time, that was home.

I always considered myself lucky. While so many of my friends only had one father, I had both of mine. They’d tried to have a child before me, but my father miscarried.  
They waited a few years before trying again, had me, and then they stopped trying altogether. One of my dads had a decent job as a medical researcher so we were never hurting for money like so many other families.

Looking back on it, I realize that I led a charmed life.

That all changed a few weeks after my seventeenth birthday. That’s when my dads were driving back home from dinner at their favorite restaurant and got hit by a drunk driver.

I lost them both that night.

That night I lost everything.

After that, Los Angeles lost its luster for me. It was no longer a friendly city, but one filled with painful memories wherever I looked.

So I moved away when I turned eighteen. I took the small amount of money that my parents had left me and got in my car and drove.

I meant to drive all the way to New York.

That was the plan anyway, but I was tired and curious and I ended up stopping in Las Vegas.

I decided to stay for a few days.

Then I met people.

Then I made friends.

And somehow, seven years later, here I still am. Now, meeting Tommy, fucking things up with him and then losing him – all of that becomes just another chapter in my life.

Its two months after my fight with him that I find myself at another party, this time alone.

And no, it’s not something I’m particularly happy about. I liked Tommy. Maybe more than I realized. But I’ve tried to apologize, to make things right and he won’t listen and he won’t talk to me. Eventually I gave up.

Sometimes it’s hard, not knowing what might have been or how far our relationship could have gone. He wasn’t the love of my life, but could he have been?

It’s a question that I’ve come to realize will always remain unanswered, no matter how much I manage to move forward.

So tonight I’m here, surrounded by my friends and an overabundance of alcohol.

There’s even a live band playing, a rarity in these times. They’re really not that good but it doesn’t matter. What matters is that the music is loud and the energy is strong and the mood is electric.

“So, where’s your boy?”

That’s Brad asking, currently draping himself over my shoulder and talking into my ear.

“You know damn well he’s not my boy, Brad.”

“You still haven’t gotten him to forgive you?”

I shrug. “He won’t return my calls.”

“Boy holds a grudge.”

“I don’t blame him. What I did was shitty.”

“Yeah, it really was.”

I poke him hard in the chest, just on the edge of angry. “How can you say that? This was all your fault.”

“My fault? How was it my fault?”

“You and all your stupid talk about how amazing it was to fuck. You put ideas in my head.”

He laughs. “You’re so full of shit, Adam. Was I there holding your dick and telling you to put it in?”

I manage to hold on to my indignant anger for a few more seconds before I’m forced to give it up with a small chuckle. I don’t know how Brad does it, but he always manages to make things a little less dim.

“So are you ready to stop pouting and start enjoying being single again?” he asks.

“I haven’t been pouting.”

“Really? When’s the last time you took a guy home? When was the last time you got any?”

I roll my eyes as my answer. We both know what it is anyway. Not since that night with Tommy.

“Good. There’s this guy named Mark I want you to meet. He’s perfect for you. Gorgeous. Prettier than Tommy even.”

I think to myself that no one is prettier than Tommy, but I don’t say it. I just laugh and nod and prepare to meet Mark.

We make it halfway across the room when another one of our friends runs up to us. It’s Mikey – cute kid but skinny as a rail. I made out with his older brother once. Gerard. Damn fine kisser but one crazy motherfucker. “You guys have got to come see this,” he says.

“What is it?”

He walks away and motions with his finger to follow. I can see he’s holding something in his hand, something in a brown paper bag.

I have to admit to being intrigued.

“If it’s your dick, I’ve already seen it,” Brad drawls.

“You have not, you idiot,” I say.

Brad laughs. “Yeah, I know.”

“Do you want to see this or not?” Mikey asks, sounding impatient and a little put out.

Brad and I share a look, shrug, and then follow Mikey. He leads us through the throng of people and into one of the empty back bedrooms.

He locks the door behind us and looks around, almost as if he’s expecting someone to jump out of a corner and catch us.

“What’s with all the secrecy, Mikey?”

Mikey holds up a hand, tilting his head in an exaggerated listening pose. Brad and I look at each other, both of us struggling to keep from breaking out into laughter. A moment later, Mikey walks over to us, finally pulling out what he’s been hiding in that paper bag.

I’m almost disappointed when I see it’s just a magazine.

That is, until Mikey opens it to one of the pages.

The picture shows a man and a woman engaged in acts that make even me blush. The shock of it forces me to turn away, but curiosity drives my gaze back.

It’s not as if I haven’t seen a woman before. I’ve seen pictures and I’ve seen them in movies. But not like this. All sexual images of women were banned years ago, an attempt to keep men focused on wanting to be with men. I thought that most of these images were destroyed. They were supposed to be.

Apparently I was wrong.

“Where did you get this?” Brad asks.

Mikey grins. “Can’t tell you. Have to kill you.”

Brad looks down at it, makes a face. “Dude, this is so illegal. Oh my god. We could go to jail just for looking at it.”

“Well, no one’s going to know because no one’s going to say anything. Right?”

Brad and I shake our heads, an agreement that needs no words.

“So what do you guys think? She’s hot, right?”

Mikey flips the pages as he asks, showing us picture after picture. I look down, studying, calmer now that I’ve had a chance to get over the initial surprise of it.

The featured girl is pretty, all jet-black hair and voluptuous curves. Soft where a man would be hard.

“Doesn’t do anything for me,” Brad says. “I’d rather have a man any day.” He turns to me. “What do you think, Adam?”

What do I think? I think that it’s interesting, seeing a woman. And I can appreciate the beauty of her body, like sculpted art. But then I think of Tommy and his pale skin underneath my hands, the way he writhes when I touch him just so . . .

“I think . . . yeah . . .” I have to clear my throat to continue. “A man is better.”

“So says the throwback,” Brad says. “Argument settled.”

Mikey runs his fingers over one the pictures. “Well sure, guys are better. But this is still crazy hot.”

“Where did you even get this, Mikey?” Brad asks. “Seriously.”

Mikey closes the magazine and slips it back into the paper bag. “Let’s just say it wasn’t easy to get. I know I shouldn’t be sharing it, but I had to show somebody and I know I can trust you guys.”

Mikey has trusted the right people. Neither one of us will say anything and his secret stash will remain secret. We promise him our silence and offer him our thanks for showing us what so few have seen.

Then we compose ourselves enough to get back to the party, all of us parting ways with enigmatic smiles.

The rest of the night passes by in the usual way – there’s a lot of drinking and a lot of talking and even some really bad dancing. But it’s all a little anti-climactic after Mikey’s impromptu show and tell session.

At some point, Brad manages to find me again and he leads me over to meet Mark. After the brief introductions, Brad magically disappears, blending back into the crowd. Left alone, I turn to Mark and assess. I have to admit that the guy’s cute. And he’s funny and seems sweet enough.

Before too long, I’m inviting him back to my place and he’s accepting with a kiss.

I haven’t had that much to drink so I drive us back to my place. It starts to rain almost as soon as we get in the car and I’m forced to drive slowly, being extra careful on the streets. It’s a sad fact that no one in Vegas knows how to drive in the rain.

When we get to my apartment complex, we jump out of the car and run to the door, laughing as we stumble inside, only barely wet.

We make about a minute of awkward conversation before nature takes its course and we begin to kiss. I strip him of his shirt before he obligingly gets rid of mine. Then his hands begin to roam, dipping under the waistband of my jeans when the doorbell rings.

I ignore it at first, but when it rings again barely a minute later, I realize I’m going to have to answer it.

Reluctantly, I break our kiss. “Whoever it is, I’ll get rid of them.”

“Okay,” he says, nearly panting. “Hurry back.”

I give him one last lingering kiss before throwing my shirt back on and smoothing down my hair. I hurry to the door, expecting to see my next-door neighbor on the other side of it. He has a habit of coming over when he gets lonely.

But when I swing the door open, I see that I couldn’t be more wrong.

It’s not my neighbor.

It’s Tommy and he’s dripping wet, shuddering in the cold.

“Tommy?”

“Can we talk? I know it’s late but . . .”

I grab his arm and pull him inside. “Jesus, you’re soaking wet.”

“I walked from my apartment. It started raining about halfway here.”

“You’re shaking.”

“Rain’s cold.”

It’s at this moment that Mark pokes his head out of the bedroom. “Adam?”

Tommy takes a step back. “I didn’t realize you had someone here. I . . . I can come back.”

It only takes me a brief second to assess the situation and make a decision. Mark is nice, a really sweet guy and there’s at least the promise of something new here.

But Tommy is . . . Tommy.

And Tommy and I have a lot of unfinished business.

I walk over to Mark and lower my voice. “Sorry, Mark. You have to go.”

“You’re kidding right? Who is this guy?”

“I’m sorry. Look, I can give you money for the bus.”

“Don’t fucking bother.” He walks back into the bedroom, walking out a moment later with his shirt on and keys in hand.

He pushes past us both, casting some really nasty looks as he goes. I guess I can’t blame him.

I wait until he walks out the door before turning to Tommy and pulling him further into my apartment.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I didn’t mean to fuck up your night.”

“Forget about that. He’s no one important. Why are you here, Tommy?”

“I need to talk to you,” he says. It’s hard to understand him, his teeth are chattering so badly.

“Hey, let’s get you warm first, okay? Get you out of those clothes.”

He looks up at me and manages a small smirk. “I’m not here for that.”

“I know.”

Twenty minutes later, Tommy’s sitting on my couch, wrapped up in my robe, dry except for his damp hair. He’s got a mug of tea in his hands and he’s sipping it slowly, taking his time with it.

“So what’s going on?” I ask.

He looks up, though he doesn’t quite meet my eyes. Then without any warning, without any preamble, he says, “I’m pregnant.”

If I had anything in my mouth I would be spitting it out. As it is, my eyes bug out of my head as I somehow manage to stutter out, “You’re . . . you’re what?”

“I went to my state-mandated yesterday and they tested.” He shakes his head. “I knew anyway. I haven’t been feeling right lately. I already knew. They just confirmed it.”

The state-mandated. The appointment that everyone is required to go to once a month. It’s a check-up to make sure that the artificial wombs, the ones implanted in our bodies at the age of twelve, are working properly and that there are no issues. It’s standard practice to perform a pregnancy test during a state-mandated. Just in case.

I feel like I’m in a haze, like I took too much of something really illegal and mind warping. The next words that come out of me are spoken without thought, shooting out of my mouth before my brain can check to see if they’re all right to say. “Is it . . . is it mine?”

He fixes me with a withering gaze. “Did you really just ask me that?”

“Sorry. Sorry, it’s just that . . .”

“It’s yours, you colossal ass. I haven’t been with anybody since you. I wouldn’t.”

No, of course he wouldn’t. Not Tommy.

I try to think of something to say, anything, but nothing’s coming to me. For once in my life, I am at a complete loss. “Tommy, I don’t . . .”

He sets down the cup of tea and starts to rise. “Anyway, you don’t . . . I didn’t come here for anything. I don’t expect anything from you. I just thought you should know.”

I realize that he’s about to leave. I also realize that I can’t let him do that. I can’t just let him walk out the door, not like this. I’m forced to think fast, trying not to focus on how monumental this all is.

“Look, I know that we’re not together, but I’m not gonna let you go through this by yourself. ”

“Adam, really, you don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to.” That’s not exactly true. I don’t want to do this, I’m scared shitless at the thought that I got someone pregnant, but my parents always taught me to do the right thing. I don’t run from my responsibilities.

Or my mistakes.

He settles back down and gives me a half-hearted glare. “This doesn’t mean that we’re getting back together. I’m still really, really pissed off at you.”

“I wasn’t expecting that, trust me. I'm just here if you need me.”

He nods and reaches for the mug of tea. Just as his hands close around it, he drops his head as his entire body begins to shake. For a bizarre moment, I think he might be laughing, but then I realize that was he’s doing is crying.

I don’t hesitate. I move in close and pull him into my arms. “Hey, whoa. It’s okay, Tommy. It’s going to be fine.”

He folds into me like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “You don’t understand,” he says, voice muffled by my shoulder, distorted by the tears. “This is like the ultimate fucking cosmic joke.”

“What do you mean?”

He doesn’t answer right away and I don’t push. I just hold him while he cries, knowing that he’ll tell me when he’s ready. After just a few minutes, he sits up, pulling away and leaving me feeling empty and cold. He wipes at his eyes, his tears almost under control now.

“I didn’t leave Burbank to find better jobs,” he says.

“Why did you?”

He sighs, runs a hand through his damp hair. “It’s . . . my older brother and his husband, they got it in their heads that they wanted to have a baby. I tried to talk them out of it, but they were in love and they were going to be careful and everything was going to be roses and rainbows. And then my dads were there, telling them how everything was going to be fine. Encouraging it. So they got pregnant.”

“What happened?” I ask. It’s mostly a moot question. I’m pretty sure that I already know.

“What always happens. They both died – my brother and the baby. That’s when I left and took off for LA. But it wasn’t far enough away. So I moved here.”

It’s a tragic story, made more tragic by the fact that it’s not uncommon. I can name at least ten people who can tell the same tale. I’m tempted to pull him back into my arms and rock him back and forth until all the hurt is erased, but I don’t feel that I have that privilege. So I settle for a whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, well. Now you know why this is so fucking priceless. I’m not even here six months and I get knocked up.”

“Tommy . . .”

“Forget it,” he says, waving away my words. “Just forget it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before? Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”

“I don’t tell anybody.”

I’m not completely sure why I just asked him that. Why would I expect Tommy to trust me with something that personal? We barely knew each other when we were together. We had some fun and a lot of good sex but the truth is we barely knew each other.

The truth is we barely know each other now.

“Thank you for telling me. I don’t know if I deserve it, but . . .”

“I don’t know if you do either. But if you’re really going to stick around for this, you should at least know why I’m so fucking terrified.”

I still want to take him into my arms, but don’t dare cross that line. I do take hold of his hands though, both of them in both of mine and squeeze them gently. “Hey, look, it’s not going to be like it was with your brother. We’ll be really careful and we’ll do everything right and it’s going to be fine. The government ads say that things are getting better, that mortality rates are going down. So you’re going to be fine.”

“What about the baby?”

“Well . . . yeah. The baby too.”

“No. What if I don’t want to keep him? Cause I don’t think . . . I don’t think I want to.”

My relief at hearing that is an almost physical thing. It’s Tommy’s choice of course, but I have to admit that I was really hoping for adoption. I’m not ready to be a father. It’s selfish of me to say after I got Tommy pregnant, but I’d rather face this truth than hide from it.

“That’s fine,” I hear myself saying. “But we don’t have to decide now. We have lots of time.”

“Yeah, I guess.” He pulls his hands out of my mine, runs one over his face. “I should go.”

“You could stay here tonight,” I offer, maybe too quickly for it not to sound desperate.

He shoots me a dirty look, one full of suspicion and mistrust.

“Just to sleep, I swear. I can stay on the couch if you want.”

A sigh escapes him as he looks around. “I guess I can stay. You sure about the bed?”

“Yeah, positive. You need it more than I do.”

He nods, draining the last of his tea even though it must be cold by now. “Okay, thanks. Yeah.”

“Tommy, about that night . . .”

“Don’t. Just don’t.”

I ignore him and push on. This is my chance to say what I’ve wanted to tell him for two months. “I’m so sorry. I am so, so sorry. You don’t know how many nights I’ve sat here, wishing I had done things differently. Wishing that I’d just stopped like you asked me to.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I just . . . I wanted you so bad and I was drunk and I wasn’t thinking and you felt so good and . . .”

I stop there, because none of this is helping. It’s me just treading old ground, telling him what he already knows. Giving him more excuses.

“But none of that excuses what I did. And I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

He’s silent for a long time, a really long time. I wonder if I should say something else, apologize some more. I consider groveling.

But then he looks away, takes a deep breath and mutters, “I liked it.”

“Huh?”

“I liked it,” he says, the words louder now and sounding like a challenge. “How you felt inside me. It felt good. That’s why I stopped pushing you away. I probably could have stopped you if I’d really wanted to. But I didn’t.”

“You liked it?”

“All this time I’ve been mad at you but I’ve been mad at myself too.” He gives a small, bitter laugh. “I’ve just been pissed off in general.”

There doesn’t seem any more to say, at least not tonight. Tommy looks exhausted, as if he’s about to pass out at any moment. And me, I feel like I’ll be right behind him. I reach out my hand, palm up. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed, huh?”

He stares at it so long that I’m pretty sure he’s going to tell me to fuck off.

Then he grabs it, squeezing with a strength I wasn’t sure he possessed.

“Okay.”


	2. Chapter 2

_The world changes after the flu. After the reaping._

 _The eggs, taken forcibly from female bodies, are frozen. Saved._

 _There is no question as to what should be done. The question is how._

 _Medical technology was almost halfway there already. It was just a matter of pushing it forward to meet the need. The great and desperate need._

 _The first artificial wombs were implanted into adult men. A death sentence for those unlucky enough to be in those trials._

 _But they did not give up. Our forefathers persevered. More tests. More trials._

 _All resources, all monies, were funneled into medicine and technology. Nothing else mattered._

 _Nothing else matters now._

 _All resources, all monies now funneled into implanting an artificial womb into a boy at the age of twelve. And in that womb, three viable eggs._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everything changes for Tommy after that night. He stops working; the strain that being pregnant puts on the body doesn’t allow for much. It’s not quite bed rest but it’s close.

Not that it matters that he can’t work; the government pays him a stipend for being pregnant. A very nice stipend, much more than what he was making at the grocery store. It’s just part of the government’s incentives to get us to get pregnant, to propagate the species.

Actually, everything is about propagating the species. From the banning of sexy female images to the inundation of sexy male images. From the aphrodisiac beer that’s so cheap it might as well be free to the fact that any type of birth control is illegal contraband that carries the death penalty.

All of it is designed with only one goal in mind; to get men pregnant. And like good citizens, Tommy and I are doing our part. Whether we want to or not.

The silver lining here is that Tommy’s not as angry with me anymore. He still hasn’t completely forgiven me, and I can’t blame him for that. Mostly, I think, he’s too busy being depressed and frightened to be angry.

Tonight, in an effort to cheer him up, I’ve brought him something from the restaurant where I work as a waiter. I’m well liked there and they have no problem letting me take the occasional dish home.

He takes one look at the lasagna and his brow furrows and his lips tighten. I know that look. It means he’s trying not to cry.

I know the hormones are to blame. The ones his doctor pumps into his system to help the baby grow. I pretend not to notice and sit down next to him on the couch.

We spend the next few minutes in silence while we both eat. When Tommy’s nearly done, he uses his fork to move the food around listlessly. He looks up at me from underneath those long lashes of his and says, “You don’t have to keep doing this, you know.”

“What? Bringing you food? The restaurant doesn’t care.”

“No. Coming around. Being so nice to me. You don’t have to.”

“I want to. I told you-”

“I know,” he says, interrupting. “You don’t run from your mistakes. I know.”

“Well . . . it’s more than that.”

Tommy stabs at the lasagna as if it’s his personal enemy. “Is it?”

Now there’s a question. Is it? I don’t know, but I’m not about to tell that to Tommy. He’s too sensitive right now, everything about him precarious.

I decide to stick with the safe route and give a non-answer. “Finish your dinner.”

He sets it aside on the coffee table. “Not hungry anymore.”

“You should eat. You need your strength to-”

“I’m not fucking hungry.”

That ends that discussion. I’m learning very quickly that it doesn’t pay to argue with a pregnant man.

After a few minutes of uneasy silence, most of which I spend wondering if I should go, he asks, “Are you going to be at the next doctor’s appointment?”

“When is it again?”

“Friday. At ten.”

I haven’t been to any of them; they’re always scheduled when I’m working at the restaurant. I’m not proud of this fact, especially after I pledged that I’d be there for him. “I don’t know. I have to work.”

“Can you try to get it off? We’re supposed to listen to the baby’s heartbeat.”

That takes me by surprise, that it’s already time for listening to heartbeats. After all, it’s only been a few weeks since he’s told me and he’s still barely showing.

“I’d really like it if you were there.”

I can’t say no to that face. I just can’t. Not when he looks like he’s about to cry again. “I . . . yeah, okay. I’ll be there.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’ll find a way.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It takes a lot of begging and pleading and flirting but I finally manage to convince my boss to let me come in late.

That Friday morning I pick Tommy up and we drive to his doctor’s office. The ride is spent in silence . . . not the comfortable kind. It’s tense and awkward and I have to wonder if I’ve done something to make him angry with me again.

I don’t ask though. Maybe it’s because I don’t really want to know. Maybe it’s because I’m not feeling up to having Tommy bite my head off. Whatever the reason, I stay quiet and endure the ride.

When we get there, we check in at the front desk and then go sit down where the receptionist indicates.

After a few minutes, a nurse steps into the waiting area.

“Mr. Ratliff?”

Tommy takes a deep breath and stands then we both follow him into the exam room. He tells Tommy to lift his shirt up and pull his pants down to his hips before leaving us alone.

Tommy rolls his eyes but does as he’s told and a few minutes later, the doctor and his assistant enter the room.

With my help, Tommy lies back on the exam table. When he’s comfortable, I slide my chair closer to him and he grabs my hand, linking his fingers with mine.

The doctor introduces himself to me as Dr. Simmons before beginning to ask Tommy questions. Behind him, his assistant prepares the equipment.

“How have you been feeling, Tommy?”

“Okay. Tired.”

“Have you been sleeping well?”

“Yes. Mostly.”

“Are you having any pain?”

“No. No pain.”

Tommy squeezes my hand. I squeeze back.

“Having any trouble keeping food down?”

“No. I haven’t been sick since that first month.”

“Good. That’s good.”

As I watch, the doctor places his hands on Tommy’s stomach, only slightly rounded, and begins to press it, palpitating with his fingers.

“Any pain?”

Tommy looks at me when he answers. “No.”

“There? How about there?”

“No.”

Finally the doctor stops. Then he smiles at us both and says, “Time to listen to your baby’s heartbeat.”

The assistant comes forward, placing the receiver in the doctor’s hand. He in turn places it against Tommy’s stomach.

For a moment there is only silence, deafening in its totality.

And then we hear it. The unmistakable rhythm of a beating heart.

It fills the room, fills our ears until it seems that is the only sound that exists in the world.

“That’s it?” Tommy asks.

“That’s it. That’s your baby’s heartbeat.”

We share a look then, Tommy and I. It’s hard to know exactly what’s in his wide, brown eyes, but I think what I see is awe.

It’s a part of what I’m feeling, though it’s hard to narrow it down to just that. But I can’t describe it, not fully, not when there are so many emotions bombarding me at once.

When the doctor pronounces the heartbeat as nice as strong, says that everything sounds good, Tommy and I share a tentative smile. I’m really, really tempted to kiss him, but I’m pretty sure that won’t be welcome, so I settle for brushing his hair back from his forehead.

Afterward, the car ride back to Tommy’s apartment is silent, but for different reasons than the ones in the morning.

I can only speak for myself, but I’m pretty sure that Tommy feels the same. It’s more than being overwhelmed. It’s as if we’ve both reached a point where all thoughts and emotions have short-circuited and there’s nothing left inside of us but the buzz of white static noise. It’s one thing to know that there’s life inside Tommy’s stomach, it’s another thing to be given concrete proof of it.

We’re about ten minutes away from Tommy’s place when he turns to me. “I don’t want to go home yet. Is there . . . can we go someplace?”

I think about it for a minute as I mentally map out what’s nearby. “We’re close to Sunset Park. Is that cool?”

“Yeah.”

Sunset Park is one of the older parks, one of the few that the city still bothers putting money into. It’s huge and lush and green, a mini-oasis here in Vegas.

Tommy and I walk down to the lake and lay an old blanket down on the grass that I always keep in the trunk of car. We sit down but after a moment we both stretch out and lie back, exposing our faces to the sun.

It’s a beautiful day, as so many of them often are here. The sky is a soft blue and the clouds are light and sparse. It’s the start of spring, so the weather is perfect.

“Penny for your thoughts,” I say.

“I don’t know. I don’t even know what I’m thinking or what I’m feeling right now.”

He places a hand on his stomach, rubbing it slightly.

“I know,” I say. “That was weird. Not in a bad way. But weird.”

“It makes it more real. It didn’t feel real before. Now it does.”

“Yeah,” I say, nodding to let him know that I understand.

“I have something inside of me, Adam. I have a person inside of me.”

“I know.”

He sighs, continues to rub at his stomach. I wonder if he’s even aware that he’s doing it.

“I haven’t told you this, but I’ve been having this dream that I go to a doctor and he takes the baby out. I tell him I don’t want it, and he cuts me open and pulls it out. But then he shows it to me and it’s already fully developed. An actual baby. And then he tells me congratulations – the baby’s dead.”

The mental image that brings causes me to shudder despite the warmth of the day. “Jesus, Tommy.”

“I know. It’s pretty fucked up.” He pauses, runs a hand through his hair, leaving it to fall across his eyes. “See, the thing is, all this time, I’ve been wishing that abortion wasn’t illegal, that I could get rid of it. I’ve been wishing that I could lose it, that it would die. And now . . .”

I wait for him to continue and when he doesn’t, I push. “And now?”

“Now, I don’t know.” He turns his head to face me at last. His eyes seem too large for his face, dancing with an emotion that I can’t quite read. “Now, it’s real and I don’t know.”

I place my hand atop his, the both of us touching his stomach now. I could try and speak but it wouldn’t do any good. The words wouldn’t come. They’ll only stick in my throat and won’t come out.

For some reason I can’t tell him that I’ve been wishing and hoping for the exact same thing.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 _Not every nation takes part in The Reaping, the experiments. Some, already impoverished when the plague hit, simply cannot afford to. The new technology is, first and foremost, expensive._

 _Then there are the nations that refuse to. They claim that the plague is their god’s will and that god will provide._

 _The nations that won’t or can’t move forward soon die out. The world becomes a much smaller place and the boundaries that used to exist between countries, the ones that used to matter so much, suddenly matter little if at all._

 _A brave new world, misshapen by tragedy._

 _A new world, created by death and poverty and fear._

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Another month passes before I’m able to come back to an appointment with Tommy. He understands and he doesn’t push.

Except for this one time.

The one I can’t miss. The ultrasound.

We sit in the waiting room and although we’re not a couple, I know we must look like one. The way we sit with our hands clasped together, the way my free hand rubs at his shoulders. We’re not a couple, and maybe we never will be, but we’re together in this and Tommy needs me.

He’s been really tired lately, the baby has been sapping his strength, taking it all for himself. He’s been hurting too. His stomach and his back have been aching as his body begins to accommodate the growing womb.

This is a dangerous time in a pregnancy, more dangerous even than the first few months. We’re both aware of this, both aware of how important it is to be careful and to follow the doctor’s every order.

In these past few weeks, I’ve spent a fair amount of time with Tommy in his apartment, rubbing his shoulders and back, assuring him that it’s going to be okay. That he’s going to be okay.

But sometimes when I look at his face, at the paleness of his skin or the dark circles beneath his eyes, I have to wonder.

“Mr. Ratliff?”

There’s the nurse, telling us it’s our turn.

I help Tommy up and we follow him into the room. Once inside, I hold out my hand to Tommy, helping him to climb up on the exam table. He immediately goes about pulling his shirt up and his pants down without even being told.

The nurse then announces that he’s going to get the technician before leaving us alone.

I reach immediately for Tommy’s hand. “You ready for this?”

“What if I say no? Can I get off this slab and go home?”

“You want me to get you out of here? I’ll throw you over my shoulder and we’ll run off into the night.”

I can see the tension drawing away from him, just a little. He laughs and swats at my arm. “You Tarzan, me Jane?” he asks.

“That’s why they call me a throwback, baby.”

We both laugh at that, maybe harder than the joke deserves. We’re still giggling when the doctor and technician come into the room.

“Well, you’re in good moods,” Dr. Simmons says.

We both nod and wipe the last of the giggles away, nervous again now that it’s time.

After a brief exam by the doctor, the technician spreads some gel on Tommy’s stomach then places what he explains is the transducer against it. He gives us a brief explanation of how this process works and what we’ll be seeing.

“Okay, now watch the screen,” the technician says.

We do, both of us swiveling our heads to the left to look at the monitor.

“That’s your baby,” he announces. He sounds almost proud, as if he himself had a hand in its creation.

A baby? All I see is a moving blob.

“That’s him?” Tommy asks.

“That’s him,” the technician says. “That’s his head. Those are his feet. There are his hands.”

With every word the technician speaks, the picture becomes a little clearer, comes a little more into focus. I can see it now, the shape of a head, what looks like little stunted arms . . .

“Is he . . . how does he look? Is he healthy?” Tommy asks.

“His size looks good. His heartbeat is strong. He’s . . .”

The technician’s voice trails off, his hand coming to a complete stop on Tommy’s stomach.

“Is something wrong?” I ask.

He ignores me. “No, that can’t be. Doctor, do you see what I’m seeing?”

“What’s wrong?” Tommy asks, trying to sit up. I have to hold him down, my hands pressing on his shoulders to keep him still. “Is something wrong with the baby?”

The doctor steps forward and stares at the monitor, face nearly plastered up against it. “This can’t be. It can’t be.”

“Doctor, you want to clue us in here?” I maybe say it a little ruder than necessary, but I don’t really care. They’re scaring Tommy. Scaring me.

The doctor finally tears his eyes away from the monitor and looks at us. “No, nothing’s wrong, it’s just . . . I need someone else to look at this. I need another opinion.”

He turns to the technician. “Get Dr. Abberly. Now.”

“Yes, sir,” the technician says as he runs out of the room.

“Please, is something wrong?” Tommy asks. His voice breaks, a sign that he’s near tears. I run my hand through his hair, hoping to soothe him but the truth is, I’m just as frightened as he is.

“Your baby’s fine. It’s healthy. It’s not that, it’s just . . .”

His sentence trails off, much like the technician’s had done.

Before either Tommy or I can say anything else, the other doctor knocks at the door and lets himself inside. The technician’s right behind him, looking flushed and excited.

All three of them gather around the screen where they proceed to point and gasp and whisper.

“Guys? Really? Guys?” I say. I can feel myself growing more and more frustrated, more and more driven by the urge to grab the closest one of them to me and shake an answer out of him.

Finally, at long last, they turn back to us.

It’s Dr. Simmons who speaks, drawing out the words slowly. “I don’t know how to say this. The proof is right in front of my eyes and I still can’t believe it.”

“What is it? What’s wrong with the baby?”

His reddened eyes and small, hitched breaths tell me that Tommy is on the brink of tears and I’m only a few seconds away from punching the doctor for making him go through this.

“The baby’s fine. The baby’s fine. But the baby . . . the baby’s a girl.”

And then he starts smiling, laughing. And the other doctor starts laughing while the technician covers his face with his hands and starts praying.

For a few seconds, the words mean nothing to me. Nothing because what they suggest is not possible. Girls cannot be conceived. Girls are, for want of a better word, extinct.

“But that’s not . . . is this some kind of joke?” I ask.

“It’s not a joke,” Dr. Simmons says. “It’s a miracle. This is a miracle.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Is this real?”

We’re back at my apartment, after I insist that Tommy come home with me.

Tommy sits on the couch, one hand rubbing slow circles against his stomach. The other hand is at his mouth as he chews his nails with nervous vigor.

And while he sits there and stares off into space, I pace the length of my living room over and over and over as I try to wrap my mind around the impossible.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t know.”

“No girl’s been born since the plague, Adam. Not one. Not even conceived.”

“I know. I know.”

“This isn’t possible, is it? It’s a mistake right?”

“I don’t know.” I come to a sudden halt and take a deep breath. I remember the doctors’ faces, the way they stared at the screen with wonder and reverence. “I don’t know, but I don’t think it’s a mistake.”

Tommy turns his head toward me, his eyes seeking mine. They are the eyes of someone who is coming to grips with what simply cannot be. “The doctor said it’s a miracle.”

“There are no miracles, Tommy. Not in this world.”

“Maybe she is.” He stops annihilating his nails and looks down. The hand on his stomach hasn’t stopped moving but now his touch seems different. More gentle. “Are you? Are you, baby?”

I’ve never heard him talk to the baby before, not in all this time. He’s never really acknowledged it and truthfully, neither have I.

But seeing this, it feels like something’s twisting inside of me, akin to a hot knife that’s been shoved in too fast, too deep.

And yet somehow, it’s not a bad pain. I welcome it, knowing that I deserve it. Knowing that this is part and parcel of the journey.

I sit down next to Tommy and place my hand over his belly. He makes room for me, sliding his hand over so that we’re both touching his skin. This is how we stay, unmoving and silent, for a very long time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning we receive a call from Dr. Simmons saying that he’s arranged for Tommy to stay at the hospital until the baby is born.

Tommy attempts to argue but it’s useless. Not with the doctor impressing upon him how important this all is, how vital that Tommy be healthy, how this is a miracle but a miracle that must be monitored.

“This is bigger than you both,” he says.

And we have no choice but to agree.

Three days later, Tommy and some of his things have been moved into a hospital room the size of my entire apartment.

And yes, I might be exaggerating a little, but not by much. This must be where the rich men come to give birth. It’s large and luxurious and would look like a fancy hotel suite if it weren’t for all the medical equipment surrounding the bed. Not only that but the room is at the farthest end of the hall, separated from all the others by a long length of hallway. It even has its own nurses’ station, making it as private as one can get in a hospital.

“So what do you think?” I ask Tommy. This is the first chance we’ve had to be alone since the movers hauled everything in and the doctors did their initial intake.

“I think they gave us the wrong room.”

He’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt and looking around the room with wide eyes. He looks really young and innocent, a lot younger than his twenty-three years.

I laugh at his comment before turning to look out the window. I can see the hotels of the Strip from here. Large, hulking playgrounds that now sit mostly empty. Once upon a time, this place was a wonderland. Or so I hear. Now it’s just like everyplace else, nothing but a city that’s crumbling apart.

I wonder what this place looked like before the world went to hell.

“Adam.” Tommy’s voice is sharp and it pulls me away from my thoughts. I turn to see that he’s got both hands on his stomach, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“You okay?” I ask, worry bleeding into my voice.

“I think . . . come here.” When he looks up, his face breaks into the widest smile I’ve ever seen him wear.

“What is it?”

“She’s kicking.” He laughs, an incredulous laugh, like he can’t quite believe what he’s saying.

I hurry to sit by him and he takes my hand, placing it where he wants it. I wait, tense, and unmoving, barely even daring to breathe, but I feel nothing but the warmth of his skin.

Tommy bites his lip, concentrating as he moves my hand around. First to the left, then to the right, then up.

“Maybe you were imagining it?” I say.

“No. No,” he mutters.

I’m about to pull my hand away when I feel it. The tiniest little kick under my hand. Tommy and I look at each other at the same time. I’m guessing that my grin must mirror his; huge and disbelieving and goofy.

After a second or two, I feel another I feel another kick, then another.

“That’s her,” he says.

“Wow,” I laugh. “Oh wow.”

“I know. I know. Wow, right? Wow.”

So here we sit, two grown men reduced to a one-syllable word to describe what we’re feeling. But really, there are no words for this. Our baby, our little girl, is kicking like she’s getting ready to try and pop out right now. It’s this more than anything that truly drives the knowledge home.

This one little moment that finally takes this from surreal dream into grounded reality.

There is a life inside of Tommy.

A life that we created together.

Our responsibility.

Ours.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For the next two weeks, I’m at the hospital quite a bit. A lot of that time is spent visiting with Tommy but a fair amount of time is spent acting like some sort of science project for these doctors.

There are a lot of questions, a lot of poking, a lot of prodding and a lot of tests. Endless tests. Blood tests, urine tests, and cholesterol tests . . . they’ve even taken a few sperm samples. Not that I mind, not really. I know that they’re desperate to know how Tommy and I managed to conceive a girl. Most people don’t believe in a god anymore, so the term miracle is hard to swallow, but it’s probably the closest thing to what this little girl is.

Today is an easy day though. It’s my day off at the restaurant and the doctors haven’t scheduled any tests for me. Today I’ve got nothing but free time. Time that I’ve decided to spend with Tommy.

I sit beside his bed and try to talk to him, but he can’t seem to focus on my words. He looks tired yet he’s acting restless, shifting his body as if he can’t get comfortable.

“You okay?” I ask.

I can tell what his answer is going to be before he even opens his mouth.

“Don’t feel good . . .”

“What’s wrong? Did you tell the nurse?”

Tommy’s been assigned three nurses dedicated solely to him along with three dedicated doctors, all of them on staggered shifts to make sure he gets twenty-four hour care.

Right now, mid-shift, the nurse’s name is Larry. He’s about the size of an ox, the very definition of throwback, but he’s gentle and caring with Tommy and that’s what matters.

“No . . . just . . . it’s nothing I can pinpoint. I just feel weird.”

“Well, you should tell the nurse,” I say.

“Fine,” he says, sounding irritated. “Whatever. You call the nurse, I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Do you want help?”

“I can still walk, Adam.”

I hold my hands up in imitation surrender. I’ve learned not to take his negative moods personally. I know it’s only the hormones that make him act this way. He’s at the mercy of them, at the mercy of his body. The least I can do is be understanding.

I watch him stand up and walk across the room to the bathroom, his shuffling gait reminiscent of an old man’s. I don’t relax until he enters the room and closes the door behind. After a moment, I climb onto the bed and sprawl, enjoying how soft it is, like laying on cotton candy. I decide that I’ll call the nurse when he comes back out, that there’s no use doing it now.

Then I wait.

And wait.

I didn’t make note of the time when he went inside the bathroom, but I can easily tell that this is taking too long. No matter what he’s doing in there and how slowly he has to move, he’s taking far too long.

I get up and cross to the bathroom, knocking on the closed door. “Tommy?”

There’s no answer.

I knock again, raising my voice so I’m nearly shouting. “Tommy? What’s going on?”

I hear him then, his voice softly calling out my name.

“Tommy, you okay in there?”

Again there’s no answer. The silence extends long enough for it to turn ominous, long enough for the uneasiness pooling in my gut to turn into fear.

“Tommy, I’m coming in, okay?”

My hand falls to the door handle, ready to turn it, when the door opens, swinging so wide it almost knocks me over. Tommy’s right there, one hand clutching the handle, the other cradling his stomach.

“Adam . . . it hurts. It hurts.”

I barely have time to react to that when his knees buckle and he collapses. I manage to catch him before he sinks to the floor but it’s a struggle just to hold him up.

“Hold on, Tommy, okay?”

He doesn’t answer and for a brief, terrifying moment I imagine that he’s lost consciousness, but then he lifts his head and gives me a quick, jerky nod. It gives me a chance to see his face, grim and pale and lined with pain.

I repeat my plea for him to hold on and begin the task of getting him back to the bed. I pull and I drag, using all of my supposed throwback strength to get him there.

“It’s going to be okay,” I tell him once he’s lying down. My heart’s pounding against my chest, hard enough that it feels like it will break through my ribcage. I hit the button for the nurse then I hit it again and again and again.

Maybe it would be faster to get up and yell for help but I’m frozen in place, unable to leave Tommy when he’s in so much pain.

“Something’s wrong,” he gasps. He’s turned in on himself; his body nearly folded in half. “The baby . . .”

“Sh . . . it’s going to be fine. We’re in a hospital. It’s going to be fine.”

He reaches out for me and finds my hand, his grip like a vice.

He’s still writhing in what must be agony when the nurse runs in. Larry takes one look at him and unclips a small radio from his waistband. He’s calm when he talks into it, calling out some urgent code. Then he pushes me out of the way and takes Tommy’s hand, his other hand resting on Tommy’s stomach.

“What happened?” he asks, raising his voice to be heard over the sound of Tommy’s moans.

“He was . . . he wasn’t feeling good,” I say. I can barely think. What happened? I don’t know. I don’t know.

As I watch, the room fills with other nurses and Tommy’s doctor. My stunned mind supplies me with his name; this one is Dr. Pratz.

And Dr. Pratz looks worried, his brow creased as he shouts order after order to the nurses. They take readings and attach lines but after a few minutes, Dr. Pratz announces that they’re going to have to take Tommy to the operating room.

“What’s going on? What’s happening?” I ask.

No one bothers to answer me. No one bothers to even acknowledge my presence. All I can do is stand here, helpless as I watch them place Tommy on a gurney and begin to wheel him away.

Tommy reaches his hand out to me and calls my name, his voice rough and raw and terrified.

I’m at his side in an instant. “It’s gonna be okay. You’re going be fine, baby. You’re going to be fine,” I tell him. I try to keep my voice low and soothing, but I don’t know if I’m succeeding. I can’t remember ever being this afraid. Not since I was a seventeen-year-old kid who just realized that his life would never be the same.

I’m allowed that one brief moment with Tommy before someone pushes me away and they wheel him out into the corridor. I follow, chasing at their heels. Right up to the doors of the operating room. That’s when I run into Larry – his hand flush against my chest stops me cold.

“I have to go in there,” I say.

“We’ll take good care of him, Adam. But you can’t go in.”

“But he needs me.”

I’m not lying. I can hear him calling for me. Even through the closed doors, I can hear Tommy calling my name.

“You have to wait. I’m sorry.”

“Please . . .”

“Adam, if you really care about him, you’ll stay here and let us do our jobs. Do you understand? If you care about him, you’ll stay here.”

I consider groveling; consider trying to push my way past him. But logic prevails in the end. Larry’s right, of course he is. I’d only get in the way if I was inside, and what’s worse, I’m preventing Larry from being inside and helping Tommy. I nod, letting the adrenaline go, forcing myself my muscles to unlock.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Larry. Please help him.”

“I’ll do my best,” he says. Then he gives my shoulder a squeeze before he turns around and slips past the double doors into the operating area.

And me, I’m left to wait.


	3. Chapter 3

For three days I sit, holding silent vigil over Tommy. I barely sleep and I only eat enough so that I don’t pass out. The doctors try to tell me that I need to take care of myself, but I can’t seem to care.

Not when the unthinkable has happened.

Now when we’ve lost her. Lost her and almost lost Tommy.

I don’t understand it; when they came to mean so much to me. When my parents died, my entire world was shattered. I’ve spent eight years piecing it back together. Eight long years only to see it be shattered all over again.

So here I’ve sat, at Tommy’s bedside, holding his hand and stroking his hair. Telling him to come back to me. Begging him to come back to me.

I’m whispering, trying to be encouraging, trying not to give in to the despair and weep when I feel the slight movement of his hand in mine. As I watch, his eyes begin to flutter open.

It takes him several tries before they stay open, but they finally do. Bleary and confused, but finally open.

“Hey, baby.”

“Adam?” His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“I’m here, honey. I’m here.”

He hesitates for a moment, as if piecing together where he is, before his hand moves to his stomach.

“The baby?”

I don’t have the heart to tell him. I can only shake my head, tears pricking at my eyes.

He pulls his hand out of my grasp, so that now both cradle his stomach. “My baby?”

“I’m sorry, honey. I’m so sorry. You lost her. We lost her.”

I watch as his face twists, his hands clutching at the folds of his hospital gown. “No. Oh god . . .”

“We almost lost you too. You were hemorrhaging so badly. Tommy, I was so scared. I’ve been so scared.”

He moans as he closes his eyes, his head thrashing on the pillow. “Oh, god . . . no, please . . . god.”

He doesn’t care about himself, this I know. The anguish that I hear in his voice, the tears running down his face, these are not for him.

I’m sorry.” Such an inadequate thing to say, but I have nothing else. I’ve been mourning for three days. I feel hollowed out inside, empty and scraped raw, and I’ve got nothing more than this.

“I wanted her. I really wanted her, Adam. And I never said, and I never told her or acted like it. But I wanted her.”

“I know. I did too.”

It’s difficult to hold him; his body will be sore, still healing after being sliced open. But I try. I edge onto the bed and place my hands where I can and I kiss at his tears, even as my own join in.

It’s almost ironic. Two people mourning for something that neither one of them wanted.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I can’t sleep.

Even now, knowing that Tommy will be fine, that he is expected to fully recover, I can’t seem to sleep. After tossing and turning for what feels like hours, I finally get up. The hospital staff has been kind enough to place a cot in Tommy’s room for me, set against the far wall, close enough to be near to Tommy if he needs me.

I check on him before I leave, just to reassure myself that he’s sleeping peacefully. Then I make my over to the nurses’ station, to where Tommy’s private night nurse is.

“Hey, Gerard.”

“Hey, Adam. What are you doing up?”

It had been a shock, to say the least, to find out that Gerard is Tommy’s nurse, but I guess I’m glad it’s him. At least it’s not a stranger. And I have to admit that it’s nice to see a friendly face amongst so much sterile white.

Not that we’ve had much of a chance to catch up.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I tell him.

“You want some coffee?” He gestures to a small room behind him where I assume a coffee pot lives.

“That sounds good, yeah.”

He leaves, returning a minute later with a cup that he hands over to me.

I watch him as I take the first tentative sip. He still looks mostly the same. He still has the same pretty, feminine features, the same jet-black hair, though it is cut a little shorter than it used to be. It’s almost tame now. That and the fact he’s not wearing eyeliner almost make him look respectable.

“Did you want me to check on Tommy?”

“No. No, he’s out. I just couldn’t sleep and I couldn’t stay in that room anymore.”

He nods, takes a sip of his own cup. “I get that. You’ve been cooped up inside that room for days. You’ve gotta be going a little stir crazy.”

“A little bit,” I admit. “But there’s no way that I’m going to leave, so . . .”

“Of course not. Always knew you’d be one to stick by your man, Adam.”

I can’t help but smile at that. This from the man who stuck his tongue down my throat and pulled my hair so hard that my scalp hurt for days.

“I’ve gotta tell you, I never figured you for a nurse, Gerard. I never figured you for a real job.”

He laughs and blushes as he runs a hand through his hair. It’s a habit of his, one that he does without conscious thought. “Yeah, well, I got sick of listening to Frank bitch at me about being a lazy bum, so . . .”

“How is Frank?” I ask.

“He’s good. We moved in together about two months ago. He’s doing really good.”

“Wow. You guys getting serious?”

His answer is to hold up his right hand, flashing the plain band on his finger that signifies that he’s engaged. That means that Frank will be wearing a similar one on his right hand.

“Congratulations,” I say, meaning it completely.

“Thanks, man.”

Gerard and Frank have been together since time immemorial. I think from sometime back in junior high school. They’re one of those couples that fight constantly. They fight. They break up. They get back together. And then the cycle starts all over again.

That’s when I hooked up with Gerard, during one of those epic fights. But everyone knows that Frank and Gerard are going to be with each other until they take their last breaths. It’s just the way it is. It’s the main reason why I didn’t pursue anything further with him.

They’re perfect for each other and they love each other with a passion that’s almost frightening in its totality.

“I’m really sorry about the baby,” he says. I can tell that he’s being sincere. I can hear the regret in his voice; can see it in the turn of his mouth.

“Thanks.”

“You and Tommy together? Was she planned?”

“No. I mean, we were and then I kind of fucked up and then I didn’t hear from him for a few months. And then he came back and told me he was pregnant.”

“Dude, I have to ask. You sure it was yours?”

“Yeah,” I say, thinking back to when I asked Tommy that same question. My voice cracks on my next words. “She was mine.”

“A girl,” he says, shaking his head. “No girl has been born in over a hundred and fifty years and here you come along and bam! You’re a history maker, Adam.”

I’m not comfortable with that title. History maker. All I did was push my boyfriend to have sex when he wasn’t ready to. I shrug it off. “I’m not special, Gerard. It was a freak thing.”

“A freak thing? Yeah, I guess you could call it that,” he says. “Fine, if you don’t like history maker, how about the hope of humankind?”

“The hope of humankind.” I sigh. Suddenly, I feel tired, as if there is a huge weight pushing down on my shoulders. “Hope. That would have been a pretty name for her.” I drain the last of the coffee and toss the cup into a nearby wastebasket. “Thanks for the coffee, man.”

“Anytime. You headed back?”

“No. I think I’m going to walk around the grounds for a while.”

“See you when you come back.”

I wave to him as I walk away, grateful for that small interlude of friendship, knowing that this is going to be a long night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

It’s another five days before Tommy starts to regain his strength. He spends most of that time sleeping as his body heals. When he’s not doing that, he’s either crying or staring off into the distance, his expression blank. He looks like a battle-scarred survivor of some terrible war, a man pale and bruised and haunted.

I’m not much better. I’m trying so hard to be strong for Tommy, to support him and help him through this, but half the time I don’t feel like I can survive it myself.

Today, I’m sitting at his bedside, both of us watching a movie on TV. It’s a comedy, an old one, and every so often I see a tentative smile flash across Tommy’s face. It doesn’t linger, in fact it disappears almost instantly, but I still like to think that it’s a good sign.

It’s at this moment that the door opens and two of Tommy’s doctors walk inside. I recognize Dr. Klein and Dr. Pratz of course, but there’s another man with him, a stranger dressed in a tailored dark suit.

The doctors introduce him as a representative of the governor, come all the way from Carson City to talk to us.

Tommy and I exchange a look, both of us raising our eyebrows at this new development. Carson City is at the other end of the state, far enough away to make this man’s appearance a very interesting thing.

He shakes both our hands as he tells us to please call him Steven.

“I’m going to get right to the point,” he says. “We’d like for the both of you to try for another child. We’re willing to pay you both double the stipend that you’re entitled to.”

I don’t bother wasting time considering it. To me, the answer is clear. “No, sorry we-“

“We’ll do it,” Tommy interjects.

I turn toward him, the astonishment rendering me nearly speechless. “What?”

Tommy meets my stare head on, looking and sounding more animated than he has since he woke up from the operation. “Adam, it’s so much money and we both need it so bad.”

“I know but . . .”

“And anyway, I want to. I want to try again.”

“Tommy, this last time almost killed you.” I take hold of his hand and lean in to him, not caring that there are other people in the room to witness this. “Think about this, okay?”

“There’s nothing to think about,” he says. His jaw is set, his voice steady and firm. I can see no trace of weakness in him, no doubt. “I need this. I need another chance.”

But I can’t let it go that easily. For three days I sat helpless and watched him fight his way back from the brink of death. I can’t take the chance that it will happen again. “This is not a good idea. Think about what could happen.”

“Please, Adam. Please. I need this.”

I consider digging in my heels and absolutely refusing. But I realize, as I look into eyes that are nearly pleading, that I will ultimately say yes. He does need this and hell, maybe I do too.

“Okay,” I say. “We’ll do it. We’ll try again.”

I know that I’ve made the right decision when his face breaks into a crooked grin right before he throws his arms around my neck. I give myself a moment to revel in this moment, to breathe in the scent of him, before turning back to the men in the room

“We’ll do it but we need time. I’m not risking Tommy’s health.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Steven says. “We want you both healthy.”

“Good. We’ll want to go home then. And when Tommy’s strong enough to handle it, we’ll try again.”

“Absolutely,” Steven agrees. “As soon as the doctors give the go ahead, you’ll be released.”

It feels good to bargain. It makes me feel like we have a small bit of power in this situation.

“Good,” I say. “Then we’ll do it.”

The doctors appear thrilled, their emotions painted all over their faces like garish makeup. Steven, however, is harder to read. He’s got a politician’s face, the kind that never gives anything away.

“I don’t think I can overemphasize the importance of this,” he says. “How badly we need for the both of you to take this seriously.”

“Of course we take this seriously,” Tommy says. “This is our baby.”

“This is more than that, Mr. Ratliff. What you’re doing . . . this baby could change the world.”

“A miracle,” I say, echoing Dr. Simmons’ words from what feels like so long ago.

“Yes,” Steven says. “Yes. A miracle.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Come see me in three weeks.

Those were the last words that Tommy said to me when we parted ways outside of the hospital.

Come see me in three weeks.

He needed time to heal and to be with his fathers, both of whom had driven in from California to be with him.

So I went my way and he went his and for a full three weeks I don’t see Tommy at all. He’s in my thoughts though, occupying them during what feels like every waking moment. He’s there when I go to work and when I hang out with my friends and when I go to bed at night.

And finally at the end of what feels like the longest three weeks ever, here I am, knocking on Tommy’s door at last.

He opens it and smiles before stepping aside so I can enter.

As I stand there, I take a moment to take in the sight of him. He’s dressed in jeans and a black shirt, hair combed in the style he was wearing when I first met him. He looks really good, there’s color in his face again and the dark circles under his eyes are gone.

He looks just as beautiful as he did that first night that I saw him. More so, if that’s even possible.

I hold out the bouquet of flowers that I’ve been clutching in my hands. “Here, I got these for you.”

“Wow. Really? They’re beautiful.”

I’m nervous. I can’t believe I’m so nervous. After everything that we’ve been through together, the fact that I feel like an inexperienced sixteen-year-old on his first date is ridiculous. Yet there’s no denying that this is awkward, what with neither of us quite looking the other in the eye and our sentences hardly more than stammers.

“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so it’s a little bit of everything.”

He blushes and bites at his lip. I know this particular tic of his. It means that he’s nervous too. It makes me feel a little better, knowing that I’m not the only one.

“I love them,” he says. He pulls out a flower, one of the lilies, and hands it to me. “For you.”

We both smile and it helps a little, breaks the tension just enough. I cup his cheek with my free hand. “I um . . . I want this to be better than last time.”

“It will be.” He turns his head and kisses the inside of my palm. “It will be.”

A thrill races through my body at that small intimate gesture and I realize, then and there, just how much I want him. This isn’t just about us trying for another girl. This is also about me wanting this man under me, wanting to hold his body against mine and hear him cry out in pleasure. This is about giving him what I couldn’t give him the last time we were together.

He excuses himself to place the flowers in water, telling me to make myself comfortable. I head over to the couch in the center of the room and sit down.

“Can I get you anything?” he calls out from the kitchen. “Something to drink? I have beer.”

“No. I’m okay.”

He comes back holding a vase in his hands, the flowers artfully arranged within. He sets it down on the coffee table and sits down next to me. He’s still moving slowly, sitting down gingerly as if he’s in residual pain.

“You feeling all right?” I ask.

He runs his hand across his stomach, the place where I know a scar to be. “I’m okay. It doesn’t hurt. I’m mostly just stiff now.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure. Dr. Simmons gave me a clean bill of health a week ago.”

“Good.” I place my hand on his knee and stroke my thumb against the denim. “And how were your parents?”

I had asked Tommy if I could meet them, and he had very politely but firmly told me no. I hadn’t pushed the issue, knowing that he needed time alone with them. I’d understood. They’d gone nearly three long years without speaking to each other. This was their time to heal.

“They’re good. We talked a lot. Got some things out in the open. I um . . . I forgave them. And then I apologized for being such a dick. And they told me they loved me and that I had nothing to apologize for.”

“Wow. That’s good, huh?”

“Yeah. I think so.” He hesitates as he lowers his gaze. “They want me to move back.”

“Are you going to?” I try to ask it calmly, but I’m fairly sure my voice betrays just how badly I want that answer to be no.

He shakes his head. “This is my home now. Maybe one day I’ll go back but . . . not anytime soon.” He looks up at me from underneath his lashes. “Besides, we have a baby to make, right?”

How could I forget? It is, after all, the true reason why I’m here. I make one last-ditch effort to put a stop to things. “We don’t have to do this, you know. We could tell them no.”

He gives a minute shake of his head. “I want this, Adam.”

I can still see the sadness in his eyes, the sadness that he’s trying so valiantly to hide. Behind the smiles, he’s still broken, still in pieces.

“You were going to keep her, weren’t you?” I whisper. I inch closer, bringing him in to touch.

“Yes. Yeah, I think so. Things changed when I felt her move, you know?”

“Yeah.”

We’re silent for a few moments, trying for control of our seesawing emotions. This is what talking about her does; it’s an invitation to revisit the pain, to re-open a wound that never truly heals.

Tommy finally pulls away and stands, offering me his hand. “Let’s go to bed, huh?”

I answer with a nod and let him lead me into the bedroom.

I wasn’t sure what to expect from tonight. I wasn’t sure if this would be a chore for Tommy, something perfunctory that had to be accomplished, a means to an end. But within a matter of seconds I can see that it won’t be like that at all.

Maybe it’s the shared loss, the taking comfort in each other’s bodies that makes this feel so right.

“I’m gonna make it good for you this time,” I tell him. “I promise.”

He slides his arms around my neck, pulls me to him. “I know you will.”

Under cover of darkness, we move as if we are underwater. Slow and languid; easy and gentle. Neither of us really knows what we’re doing, using only half-remembered porn and locker room rumors to guide us.

But we manage, our instincts guiding us as I slide into him and he arches up into it, my name little more than an exhale on his lips.

“Am I hurting you?”

He brings his legs up around my waist, his heels resting on my back. “No. No, baby no. Need you to move . . .”

I do, but with care, my movements tentative and shallow. My attention, my focus is centered on him this time as I stroke him to the rhythm of my thrusts. “Does that feel good? Is it okay?”

“Faster. You can go faster.”

“Don’t want to hurt you.”

“Not made of glass, Adam.”

I laugh as I stroke his hair, the strands feeling like silk against my fingers. Then I snap my hips forward, giving him what he wanted. Still, I keep it controlled, using much less force than I know I could.

I refuse to hurt Tommy.

I would rather die than hurt Tommy.

“Like that?” I ask.

He tips his head back, baring his throat to me, the line of it so pretty and delicate and groans, “Fuck, Adam. Fuck.”

“That’s a yes.”

“That’s a god damn fucking yes.”

I relent then, giving in to nature’s pull. Still careful not to hurt him, I move faster, thrust deeper until soon I’m bottoming out, our bodies meeting over and over.

After a few minutes, he spills into my hand, his body shuddering, his face pressed to my neck. I can feel his parted mouth, wet and hot against my throat, the barest hint of teeth scraping at the skin as he comes undone.

As for me, I don’t want it to ever end. Not when it’s so good, so much better than the last time. Last time we were both sloppy drunk and although I hate to admit it and he claims different, I forced it on him.

This time he wants this as much as I do. This time there’s no alcohol to dull the sensations and I know I will remember every last whisper of his skin against mine, every last broken moan. This time feels like nothing short of heaven.

I hold out as long as I can, but eventually I give in to my body’s need for release. He holds me through it, wrapping his arms around me, rocking his body in time with mine, and making the moment ours.

It takes me several seconds before I can catch my breath and come down from that dizzying high. Then I duck down and place a kiss on his forehead, his nose, and his perfect, perfect lips . . .

“You okay?” I ask.

“Mmm . . . I’m perfect.”

I give him one more small kiss before I start to shift away.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to get something to clean us up.”

“No, just stay with me, okay?”

I nod, relenting immediately. “Yeah, okay.”

We maneuver and turn until we’re both under the covers, facing each other, our bodies becoming mirror images. He tucks a hand under his cheek, using the other to clasp mine, reaching across the small divide that separates us.

“You don’t know how badly I wish that had been our first time,” I tell him.

“Adam . . .”

“I get so mad at myself whenever I think about it. I’m so sorry, Tommy. You don’t know how much I hate that I did that to you.”

“You know what? That was a lifetime ago. It’s forgiven.”

“But not forgotten.”

He shakes his head and tightens his grip on my hand. I find it a relief that it almost hurts. It means that he’s regaining his strength at last. “It’s in the past,” he says. “And I’m not worried about the past. I’m looking at now. And I’m looking at the future.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I like that; the idea of a future with this man. I bring his hand in toward me, my lips brushing against his knuckles. His lips curl up in a lazy smile as he pulls his hand back, taking mine with him. He cradles them both against his chest, lowering his head long enough to plant a very sweet, sexy kiss against my wrist.

It takes a while for our touches to turn from soft and innocent to heated. We can’t have sex again; at least not with any penetration. The artificial wombs are not designed to hold two children at one time so we simply can’t take the risk that I might fertilize that final egg inside of Tommy.

But there are others thing we can do.

Other delicious, naughty things that take us all the way through to morning.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It doesn’t happen that night.

Tommy doesn’t get pregnant.

We wait two weeks to find out that it didn’t work while we hide our disappointment behind shrugs and silly jokes.

“Looks like you’ll have to try again, Tarzan,” he says.

“Just you wait, Jane. Just you wait.”

And as it turns out, the second time is the charm.

Two weeks after a three-night stay in a luxury suite, courtesy of the good governor of Nevada, we find out that Tommy’s pregnant.

This time when we turn to each other it’s to laugh and kiss and cry. Tommy tells me I must have super sperm and I tell him that my super sperm only work for him and then Dr. Simmons shakes his head as if we’re the most ridiculous things he’s ever seen.

Of course this means moving back into the hospital, something that Tommy’s not exactly thrilled about. He grimaces when he walks back into the birthing suite, the sheen and luster of it having long since worn off.

But he still steps inside and begins to make it his home. He might hate being here but he’s determined to do whatever it takes to keep this baby safe.

As for me, I begin to spend almost all my free time at the hospital. I try not to over think things, try to take things one day at a time, one step at a time. But it’s difficult when there is so much inside my head. Worries about the baby and Tommy take up most of it, but there’s also the question of what Tommy and I are now.

Are we together?

Boyfriends?

Or are we back to being two men that are locked together because they’re having a baby?

I don’t think we’ve backtracked that far, don’t think we’ve lost that much ground, but with Tommy it’s hard to tell. His first priority is the baby while all else seems to come secondary. I don’t begrudge him that, but at the same time, it would be nice to know.

The doctors perform five ultrasounds by the time we get to the big one. At eighteen weeks in, the doctors order the one that they believe will tell us the sex of the baby.

We clutch each other’s hands as Dr. Pratz smears gel across Tommy’s stomach and places the transducer against his skin. The representative from the governor’s office, Steven, is here too. As usual, his face is a stony mask, giving away nothing.

This has become a familiar ritual for us, one I’ve seen so often that I feel as if I could take the instruments from the doctor and do it myself. This time, of course, is more important than all the others, so we wait in silence, my heart pounding not of out of fear but from anticipation.

After a few minutes, Dr. Pratz clears his throat and announces that it’s a boy.

I can hear the disappointment in his voice, and for a moment, I imagine that I see it in Steven’s eyes.

“He’s healthy, right? He’s healthy?” Tommy asks.

“Yes. Very healthy.”

They might be disappointed, but I know that neither Tommy nor I are. Boy or girl, it didn’t matter. We just wanted a healthy baby. And while he’ll never replace the one we lost, we are hoping that this one will help close that empty, ragged hole that her dying left.

“We’re gonna have a baby,” I say to Tommy, pointedly ignoring the others in the room.

Tommy’s eyes are fixed on that small, almost undecipherable blob on the screen. He sighs in what can only be contentment.

“Yeah. We really are.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The call that changes everything comes a little after one in the morning.

I’m at my apartment tonight, choosing to sleep in my own bed because I have to be at work so early the next day.

My hand scrabbles across the bed until it finds the phone, picking it up and taking it straight to my ear. My heart is already thumping in my chest, dispelling the haze of sleep. Nothing good ever comes from a phone call at one in the morning.

“Hello?”

“Adam, hey, it’s Gerard.”

There’s only one reason why Gerard would be calling at this hour. I sit up and toss the covers aside. It feels like my heart is now lodged inside my throat, making it hard to talk. “Is Tommy okay?”

“I think you should get over here. Now.” Gerard’s barely speaking above a whisper, and fast, almost too fast for me to catch.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing . . . well, not exactly nothing, but . . . you just need to get here, okay?”

“Gerard . . .”

“I gotta go. I’m sorry. Adam, I’m really fucking sorry.”

And then there’s nothing but the harshness of the dial tone echoing against my ear. I throw the phone across the room, shouting out curse word after curse word as I quickly get dressed.

I’m driving fast and traffic is light and I reach the hospital in just over fifteen minutes. I pull into the first open space, throw the car into park and run inside. My feet know the way so I don’t have to think, I just move.

When I get to the private nurses’ station, I see Gerard pacing back and forth, his hand dragging through his hair and catching, dragging and catching.

“Gerard. What’s going on?” I grab his shoulders and shake him. “What’s wrong with Tommy?”

“Okay, first of all, calm down and let go. You’re like a caveman, I swear.”

It’s not easy, but I somehow manage to unclench my fingers from around his arms and step back.

“Where’s Tommy?”

“He’s in surgery.”

“What? Why? Is it the baby?”

“I should be in there,” Gerard says. He half turns, his voice so vague it sounds as if he’s talking to himself. “I would have been but I was late today and I guess they asked Larry to stay . . .”

“Gerard. What’s wrong with Tommy?” I ask, trying to stay calm. It’s taking all I have not to give in to the urge to throttle the information out of him.

“Nothing’s wrong with him.” He faces me again, his voice clearer and stronger, though sad. “Adam, they’re aborting the baby.”

“What? No.” I’m already turning, ready to run and find this operating room, ready to pull Tommy out from there.

But Gerard’s stronger that I give him credit for and the grip on my arm stops me cold.

“Stop it. Don’t make me regret calling you.”

“But I have to-”

“What are you going to do besides get in the way? You can’t stop it. It’s probably already done or close to it.”

He’s right. He’s right, I think as I step back, the weight of defeat causing my shoulders to sag. It’s just like the day that Tommy lost that first baby. The way Larry stopped me at the door and refused to allow me to enter.

It’s the same feeling of helplessness and hopelessness.

It’s all I can do to contain the tears when I ask him why.

“I don’t know exactly,” he says. “They don’t talk to me. I hear things sometimes but they don’t really tell me anything.”

I’m trying to keep myself from giving in to what’s threatening to overwhelm me. It’s black and suffocating; the helplessness and hopelessness mixed in with despair and rage. I can’t let it take me though, I can’t. If I do, I’ll fall to the ground and never get up again. And then what good would I be to Tommy?

“Was there something wrong with the baby?” I ask.

“No. As far as I know, he was healthy.”

“But why then?” I can hear the darkness in my voice, the way it trembles as I force the words out.

“I don’t know. I really don’t, Adam. I’m sorry.”

I take a swipe at my eyes with the back of my hand. I’m surprised to feel wetness. When did I start crying? “What did they tell Tommy? When they took him in there?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know. I wasn’t here. I have no idea.”

“I don’t understand. I don’t understand why they would do this.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s fucked up.”

“Is . . . is Tommy going to be okay?”

“The truth?”

I manage to nod.

“I don’t know. He’s really weak and this is just more trauma to his body. He seems to be a fighter, but I don’t know.”

I catch myself on the counter just as my knees buckle. I tell myself, even as I’m struggling to stay up, that I will not give in to this. Tommy will be fine. I cannot lose them both. I won’t. The world cannot possibly be so cruel as to take everything away from me.

“I’m sorry,” Gerard says.

I push myself back up and lock my knees into place. I refuse to fall. “Thank you for calling me.”

“Yeah, well, like I said, I thought you should know.” He leans in. “But you can’t tell them that I called you. Causing me to lose my job isn’t going to help anybody, okay?”

“I won’t.”

I can tell that he’s not convinced, so I try again. “I won’t, Gerard. You’ve been a good friend. I would never do that to you.”

“Okay, good.”

“I’m gonna go wait in Tommy’s room for him.”

“He won’t be there for awhile. Probably not until the afternoon.”

I’m already walking away, already thinking about what I’ll tell the restaurant when I call in. They’ll understand. And if they don’t . . . well, fuck them, they can fire me.

“That’s fine. I can wait. I have nowhere else to go.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I don’t sleep.

I sit and I wait and I think far too much but I do not sleep. This is how I pass the time, hour after hour after long hour until they finally wheel Tommy back from post op. It’s a little past three in the afternoon and it’s getting harder to keep my eyes open, but I don’t dare allow them to close. I don’t dare miss Tommy.

It’s only an orderly that wheels him back into the room, so I ask him no questions as I rush to Tommy’s side.

That’s how Larry finds me a few minutes later, leaning over the side of the bed, cradling Tommy’s hand in both of mine.

“Hey, Adam.”

He starts fiddling with the equipment, the IV in the back of Tommy’s hand, the heart rate monitor. He doesn’t sound surprised to see me.

“Larry, you want to tell me what happened?”

“They had to take the baby, Adam.” He won’t meet my eyes, keeping them resolutely on Tommy only. “But you already know that, don’t you?”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “It was the doctor’s call.”

“The doctor . . .”

“I am sorry, Adam,” he says, finally looking at me. “I know how much you wanted this baby. I’m sorry.”

“Is Tommy going to be okay?”

“He’ll be fine. He’ll need a few days to recover, but he’ll be fine.”

“I want to talk to the doctor, Larry. I want to know what happened.”

His gaze slips away, as if it’s painful to hold. “I’ll tell him. He’ll swing by soon anyway.”

I nod to him, watching him go before I turn back to Tommy. I drop my forehead against his arm and prepare to wait some more.

I must fall asleep at some point, because the next thing I’m aware of is Dr. Pratz gently pushing at my back. He proceeds to explain that the baby was showing signs of fetal distress and that the baby’s heartbeat stopped while they were monitoring it. He tells me that by the time they took him out, he was already dead.

I listen, too numb and dazed to even ask questions. All of this had seemed so sinister when Gerard was telling me about it, but now, with Dr. Pratz telling it, it seems as if the operation was the only alternative.

It doesn’t make things any less tragic, but at least now I know it wasn’t senseless. I thank him, for what he did for Tommy and for trying to save the baby. I am truly grateful and my thanks are heartfelt, but when he tells me that I am welcome, he does not meet my eyes.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

I had thought that telling Tommy about losing our baby girl was one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do. But this . . . this is so much harder. One child is a tragedy. Two children lost is a waking, never-ending nightmare.

Tommy listens to me, his eyes growing more dull and distant as I talk. And when I finish, he does not cry, he does not yell. He simply turns his head away from me and does nothing at all.

“Tommy? Talk to me. Please?”

“And say what?” His voice doesn’t rise above a whisper. It hasn’t since he woke up. Incapable or unwilling, I can only guess.

“I know it’s hard, honey, but you have to let me help you. We’re going through this together.”

“They were my babies, Adam.”

“They were our babies, Tommy. Ours.”

“But they were inside of me. I felt them inside of _me_. They were part of _me_.”

I won’t argue with him. He feels his is the bigger loss and maybe he’s right, I just don’t know. I can mourn and I can cry but I never felt them like he did.

I’m not sure what to do or what to say. I feel inadequate and unnecessary and I wonder if it wouldn’t be better if I just left for a while. Maybe we both need some time apart.

“I just don’t understand,” he says in a small voice. “He felt fine. He was moving normal. I just don’t understand what went wrong.”

“The doctor said he was in fetal distress,” I say.

As he turns back to me, I can see something in his eyes, a flash of emotion that darkens his entire face. “Why didn’t they tell me that? They didn’t say that.”

I frown. “They didn’t?”

“They said they were running tests and they had to put me under.”

“Tommy, are you sure?”

He turns his head, facing the wall once again. “I’m sure, Adam.”

He sounds exhausted and I don’t want to push but I have to understand. Tommy’s telling me something completely different than what the doctor told me.

“Tommy, Dr. Pratz said-”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” he says.

“I think we need to.”

“I’m tired. I just want to sleep.”

“Tommy . . .”

“Please,” he says. “Please just leave.”

“Tommy, don’t push me away.”

“I just need to be alone for awhile. I need to sleep. Please.”

I stand up, reluctant to go but unwilling to stay if he doesn’t want me here. I remind myself that we probably both need some time alone to process this. But it still feels wrong to leave. It still feels as if I’m committing a sin as I walk out the door.

And yet I still do it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

I return to Tommy’s room hours later, sneaking in like a thief in the night to sit at his bedside.

I’ve been busy while I’ve been gone, heading back to my apartment to make two very important phone calls.

The first was to the restaurant where I work to let them know what has happened and ask for some time off. They’re weren’t happy about it, but they granted it, though I’m fully prepared not to have a job when I do go back.

The next call was to Brad. I didn’t give him all the details; I only told him that Tommy lost the other baby and that I won’t be around for a while. Out of everyone I know, Brad is the most social and has the most contacts. I know that he will tell all my friends what has happened so no one worries about where I’ve disappeared to.

And now I’m here, switching between the three available television stations. When my parents told me that there used to be hundreds of channels before the plague, it sounded like a fairy tale. They told me that once upon a time, actors and musicians mattered, that they used to be worshipped like gods. Now of course, there are no rock stars and the only celebrities that people care about are the doctors and scientists that keep the world going.

At ten minutes to midnight, I kiss Tommy’s forehead, careful not to wake him, then I walk to the private nurses’ station. From a few feet away, I watch as Gerard and Larry talk, as Gerard signs in while Larry signs out.

I wave to Gerard, ignoring his look of confusion as I begin to follow Larry down the hall. Larry must hear my footsteps because he turns, his face registering surprise when he sees me.

“Hey, Adam. Did you need something?”

“Just some fresh air. You mind if I walk with you?”

“No, of course not.” He looks uneasy, as if he’d rather say no but is too polite to refuse.

We engage in small talk as we make our way through the winding corridors of the hospital. But when we finally reach the main entrance, I continue to follow him out through the doors instead of watching him walk away.

“Adam?”

“I need to talk to you. Just keep walking.”

He mutters a curse word under his breath, but does as I say and we stop only when we reach his car.

“Okay, what is it?” he asks.

“I need to know what happened to the baby.”

He pulls a face, as if he’s just tasted something sour. “You already know. He was in fetal distress, his heart stopped beating inside Tommy and they had to take him out.”

He might as well be reciting from a script. I resist the urge to hit him for telling me what I’m starting to realize is a lie.

“Tommy says that’s not what happened. He says that you guys came and put him under without any explanation. You never checked anything, much less the baby’s heart rate.”

“Tommy’s confused, Adam.”

I reach out and grab the lapel of his jacket, using it to yank him toward me. “No. Tommy’s devastated and heartbroken. He isn’t confused.”

He tries to pull away, edging toward his car door. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“Just the truth.”

“Aw, fuck.”

“Please, Larry. Please, I’m begging you. I won’t be mad at you; I don’t blame you for whatever happened. I just want to know what happened to my baby.”

He looks at me, finally really looks at me so that I can read the struggle in his face. I force myself to be still, to wait until he makes his decision.

“Sometimes the truth isn’t better, Adam.”

“It is for me. Please, Larry.”

He screws his eyes shut, drawing a deep breath in through his mouth before opening them.

“There was nothing wrong with the baby.”

My hands drop away from him as my body almost doubles in on itself. “Oh god.”

“I overheard them talking. I didn’t have anything to do with it. I just heard them talking.”

“Just tell me. Please. I’m not mad at you. Just tell me.”

“They needed that baby to be a girl. They’re desperate. And when they found out it was a boy . . . I guess they just couldn’t have that.”

“So they performed an abortion because the baby wasn’t a girl?”

“Tommy’s medical records say his eggs came from the same woman,” Larry says. “All three of them.”

“But what does that-“

“Think about it. What’s inside of you and what’s inside of him. The both of you made a miracle happen once.”

I’m beginning to see it, the puzzle pieces sliding together, finally seeing the bigger picture past my own pain. “And they’re hoping that it happens again,” I say. “And they didn’t want to wait.”

“Right. Tommy nearly died that first time. What if he had died this time? They would have lost out on shot number three with the both of you. All for a baby that doesn’t help them.”

“Fuckers! Motherfuckers!” I turn, spitting out the words in rage.

“Adam, please.”

I look to see that my shouting has attracted attention and that several people are staring in our direction. I duck my head and somehow force my breathing to even out. Inside however, I’m still seething.

“They’ll want to try again,” I say. It’s not a question, more like a request for confirmation.

“There is one egg left,” Larry says.

“Well, fuck them. Fuck. Them. As soon as Tommy’s well enough, we’re out of here. They won’t touch either one of us ever again.”

“I’m sorry. I really am. You know I like Tommy. I like you both. And what they did . . . what they did wasn’t right.”

I can hear the regret in his voice, the sadness and the outrage. He means every word of what he’s saying.

“Thank you, Larry. Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome. Just . . . be careful, okay?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah. We will be.”

He moves away, inching toward his car. “Look, I gotta go home. My husband’s waiting for me.”

Of course, yes. Larry has a life. A normal one away from this mess. Sometimes I forget that.

“Sure. Yeah. I’m sorry.”

I pat his chest, my goodbye to him, and step away, leaving him to climb in his car at last. He gives me a half-hearted wave as he drives away.

I don’t have the strength to wave back.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I don’t say anything about what I’ve learned. Not to Tommy. Not to the orderlies, nurses and doctors that file in and out of Tommy’s room day after day. I resist the urge to stand up and shout out the word murderer whenever I see a doctor, to pummel them into the ground for what they’ve done.

But I promised Larry that this will not come back to him and I will stand by that promise. Besides, truths like this never stay buried for long. They always find a way to claw their way out of the dirt and into the sunlight. I just have to bide my time and wait.

As for Tommy, today seems a better day. He’s awake and cognizant and the dullness in his eyes is slowly starting to fade. He’s starting to come back to me, I think. It’s this last thought that not only keeps the anger at bay, but brings me a small amount of happiness. As long as it’s just me and Tommy, I can do this. I can think about the both of us healing, getting better and walking out of here. I can see promise in the future.

But then Dr. Tyner walks in, an orderly and Steven in tow, and then it all goes to hell.

I grit my teeth, my hands gripping the bars of the hospital bed. Somehow I know that this is the man that ordered the abortion. This is the real murderer.

“How are you feeling today, Mr. Ratliff?” he asks.

“Better, thanks.”

Except that he really isn’t. He’s still too weak and the doctors have told us that he’s not regaining his strength as quickly as he should be. They attribute this to psychological factors. I call it being heartbroken.

“I was so sorry to hear about your loss,” Steven says.

“Thank you,” Tommy replies.

“Why are you here?” I ask, my voice barely more than a growl.

“I’m here to offer my condolences, Mr. Lambert.”

“Bullshit. There’s more. There’s always more with you.”

Tommy looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind. So, for that matter, do Dr. Tyner and the orderly.

But Steven only smiles. “Right to business, Mr. Lambert? I like that. Yes, right to business then.” He takes a seat across from us. “We need you and Mr. Ratliff to make one last attempt to have a child.”

The only reason that I don’t jump up and wrap my hands around his throat is that I’ve been expecting this. As it is, I’m fairly calm when I utter my one word answer.

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“You want us to try again. The answer is no.”

“Mr. Lambert, we’re willing to offer you a substantial amount of money . . .”

“You can keep your fucking money, okay?

“Adam . . .”

That’s Tommy, trying to interject, trying to calm me down. I ignore him and stand up, stalking over to where Steven is sitting. He stands as well.

“You may want to rethink this, Mr. Lambert,” he says.

“Why would I? Do you think I’m going to give you the chance to abort another baby because it isn’t the precious girl you’re looking for? Because it’s inconvenient?”

There’s a small, collective intake of breath before things go very quiet. I can see, from the corner of my eye, the look of shocked disbelief that Tommy’s wearing. It would be almost comical if it weren’t so . . . real.

I bring my full attention to Steven, to his smooth politician’s face and his hooded eyes. I fully expect him to deny it, but he meets my gaze straight on and asks, “Who told you?”

“You did. Just now.”

It’s only then that I see a crack in the façade. A small hint of what could be irritation.

“So you don’t deny it, you sick son of a bitch.” I lunge forward and as my hands connect with his chest, I shove . . . hard.

He tumbles but somehow manages not to fall. I’m move forward again, this time striking out with my fist, but the strong arms wrapping themselves around me stop me. It’s the orderly, who is even bigger and stronger than Larry, a feat I hadn’t thought possible. He starts to drag me away, yelling at me to calm down or he’ll throw me out of the hospital.

That threat is more than enough to get me to comply. I shrug out of his hold and back away, hands up in a gesture of surrender.

“It’s all right, Edward,” Steven says, straightening his tie and smoothing down his hair. “No harm done.” He looks at me. “And to answer your question, Mr. Lambert, no we don’t deny it. In fact, your finding out only makes it easier for us.”

“Just as long as we’re all clear – Tommy and I are done being your guinea pigs.”

“You’re under the mistaken assumption that we’re asking you, Mr. Lambert. We’re not. We’re telling you.”

I walk back to Tommy, standing beside him as a united front. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

“There are two ways this can happen. The pleasurable way, with you and Mr. Ratliff being allowed to make love . . . or we can simply take your sperm and inject it into him.”

“You can’t do that.”

“We’ll give Mr. Ratliff a week to heal and then you can make your choice. A week should suffice, right Dr. Tyner?”

The doctor looks distinctly uncomfortable when he answers, as if he’d rather be anywhere but here. “It should be enough time, yes.”

“Wait, you can’t do this. You can’t keep him here and force him to do this.”

“Oh, I believe we can.”

“He’s not strong enough. He’s too weak. Doctor, you know . . .”

“Then we’ll induce a medical coma,” Steven says. “We can make this work. We have to.”

“How can you do this? How can you do this to people? What kind of monsters are you?”

Steven laughs. “Monsters? You think we’re monsters? We’re trying to keep the human race alive, Mr. Lambert.”

“By doing this?”

“By doing what is necessary by whatever means necessary. The fact is that the human race is on the brink from complete extinction, Mr. Lambert. Something has to be done.”

“That’s not true,” I say. I can hear the desperate edge in my voice, like a child facing a truth he doesn’t want to hear. “All the ads and commercials say that we’re doing better. It’s getting easier to have kids and-“

“Lies. Propaganda created to ensure that people keep trying to have children. The truth is that despite all the technology and all the money, we’re fighting a losing battle. We’ve done the best we could for as long as we could, but men were simply not meant for this.”

“You’re saying that the entire human race is headed towards extinction?”

“On a fucking freight train, Mr. Lambert.”

“But that doesn’t excuse-“

“We’ll do it,” Tommy says, cutting in.

He’d been so quiet up until now that his voice, though low, cuts like a scream.

“No,” I tell him. “Out of the question. No.”

He looks up at me. “It’s going to happen anyway, Adam. I’d rather it be this way than both of us being held down and forced.”

“See? Mr. Ratliff is making sense,” Steven says, sounding far too smug for my liking.

“Shut up,” I snap, not even bothering to look at him.

“Adam . . .”

“Think about what you’re saying, Tommy.”

“Do you see a choice?” he asks. “Do you honestly see a choice?”

The answer, of course, is no. There isn’t one. What can I do? Throw Tommy over my shoulder and make a run for it? Fight all of the people in the room and half of the hospital staff? And then what? Become fugitives? Are we that important that they’d come after us?

Feeling beaten and defeated, I shake my head.

Tommy takes my hand in his. “If we have to do this, we do this our way.”

I ignore what sounds like Steven’s mewl of satisfied joy. I block out Edward’s towering presence and Dr. Tyner’s discomfort.

Lowering my voice to match Tommy’s, I see only him when I whisper, “Okay. We do it our way.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week isn’t enough time.

Seven days for Tommy’s incision to heal, for him to regain his strength.

It’s not nearly enough time.

But we have no choice. It’s either this or watch as Tommy is forced to . . . no . . . no, I refuse to even think about it.

We’ll do what we have to do and Tommy will be fine and the baby will be healthy. There’s no god to pray to anymore, but surely there’s some sort of justice that will tip the scales in our favor.

This is what I’m counting on as I approach Tommy.

We’re alone now, just him and I. It’s evening and the lights have been dimmed, candles placed strategically around the room. Tommy tells me that Larry did it. I imagine it was on Steven’s orders; a way to give the illusion of an ordinary romantic night shared by two lovers.

Tommy lies in bed, propped up against his pillows, his hair combed, his face freshly scrubbed.

It’s time.

Steven made it clear that it will be tonight.

But still I hesitate.

“It’s a little different than last time, huh?” Tommy asks.

“Yeah. I’d rather be in your shitty apartment.”

“The hospital’s romantic,” he says. “Mood lighting and everything.”

He’s trying to make light. We both are. But I’m failing spectacularly. The smile falls from my face as I say, “Tommy . . . I don’t think I can do this.”

He sighs and smoothes down his hospital gown. “I know I’m not exactly sexy right now.”

‘That’s not it and you know it. You’re beautiful. You’re always beautiful.”

He holds out his hand, beckoning me forward. “Then come love me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, baby.”

“You won’t. You never could.”

I take his hand. “Tommy . . .”

He looks up at me from underneath his lashes, long and lush even without makeup. “Love me, Adam.”

I come forward, allowing him to lead me to him. It’s only a few steps, but it feels like a hundred, this huge chasm that I don’t know if I should cross.

But I do, climbing onto the bed and settling in at his side. I move slowly, terrified of hurting him, my hands ghosting over his pale skin, fingers barely skimming across its heated surface.

He feels unreal to me, like a dream that I can’t quite possess. He’s too pale, too bruised, and so weak that his chest barely seems to rise and fall. He lies very still, his hands settling against my face as I push his gown up past his hips. There’s lube on the nightstand and I try to take my time, preparing him, gentle and slow, but he stops me with a sad smile and the words, “I’m ready, Adam. Please. It’s all right.”

I hover above him, propping myself up on my elbows so as not to place any weight on him. When I enter him, it’s with the slip-slide of familiarity, my body recognizing his. He stiffens under me, his lips parting as his head tips back. There’s a flash of guilt, a moment where I hate myself for enjoying this and how good he feels around me.

When I reach down to give him pleasure, he merely pushes my hand aside. “No. Just for you.”

“Tommy . . .”

“Sh . . . for you.”

I rock into him slowly and when he brings a hand to curl in my hair, I begin to cry. Not much, just a few tears, but I can see them fall against Tommy’s cheeks. He smiles but makes no move to wipe them away and there they stay, shimmering on his skin.

I finish in silence, with barely an exhale, my face against his neck. I tumble to the side and curl up against his body, helping him to pull his gown back down.

“I can get a washcloth,” I suggest.

“I’d rather you just stay.”

“You’re all about cuddles, aren’t you?”

He gives a wan smile. “I’m all about your cuddles.”

We fall silent for a bit, the sound of our combined breath the only one in the room. Until I gather up my courage and say what’s been living inside my heart for months now.

“I love you, you know.”

He turns his head so that we’re facing each other. Almost too close, we’re nose to nose, his features out of focus. “I know. I love you too.”

We bridge that small, final gap, our lips joining for a kiss. His are too dry and the angle’s all wrong and it’s hardly more than a peck . . . and yet it’s still the best kiss I’ve ever had in my life.

I break into a smile as we part. “You love me?”

There’s a mischievous glint to his eye, a flash of the Tommy in that bar from so long ago. “Jane love Tarzan. So much.”

“That’s good, cause Tarzan love Jane. So much.”

He snuggles against me, making a noise that sounds suspiciously like a purr before falling silent. Then, after a few seconds pass, he clears his throat and turns back to me.

“You have to promise me something, Adam.”

“Anything, honey. Anything.”

“Promise me that you’ll take care of the baby. That you’ll keep him and raise him. Or her.”

This was the last thing I was expecting. “I don’t think we should talk-”

“Promise me.”

“You’re talking like you’re not going to be here.”

“Come on, Adam. Let’s not kid ourselves. This is too soon. My body . . . my body can’t do this again.”

“Don’t say that, okay?” I sound angry and maybe I am, just a little. “You’re going to be fine, the baby’s going to be fine and we’re going to be a family. We’re going to-“

“It’s okay, Adam. It’s okay. I get it now. I know why my brother was willing to risk his life. I get it.”

I push up on my elbow. “You’re not going to die. Stop talking like you’re going to die.”

It’s as if he’s not even listening to me, as if he’s not even really talking to me. “But it’s okay. It’s worth it. All of it is.”

“You’re not going to die.”

“Just promise me.”

“Tommy . . .”

He places one finger against my lips, his eyes searching mine for the answer he needs. “Promise me, Adam. Goddamn it, promise me.”

So in the end, I do. Though I make a silent promise to myself at the same time; I promise myself that this is one promise I will never have to keep.


	4. Chapter 4

Two days later I’m being shaken awake by insistent hands. I mumble Tommy’s name as I turn over in the cot that has become my bed. But when I open my eyes I see that it isn’t Tommy at all.

It’s Gerard.

My eyes flick over to the hospital bed as I sit up. “What’s the matter? Is something wrong?”

“Tommy’s fine,” Gerard answers. He keeps his voice at just above a whisper. “I just need to talk to you.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

I climb out of bed and follow him, my bare feet cold against the linoleum floor.

“What’s going on?” I ask once we’re at the nurses’ station. Gerard leans in, his elbows on the counter, his voice still dropped into a conspiracist’s tone.

“You have to get out of here.”

“I . . . what?”

“As soon as you can, Adam. You need to get the hell out of this hospital. Get out of the country, maybe.”

My sleep-addled brain is having trouble comprehending what’s happening here. Why would Gerard want me to leave? It makes no sense.

“Gerard, are you drunk?”

He rolls his eyes. “I wish. Believe me, I wish it were that.”

“Then what’s this about really?”

He leans in further, only inches away from my face. “I’ve been talking to Larry. You know he hears more than I do because he works afternoons.”

“Yeah, I know. And?”

“He told me that they’re shipping you out of here as soon as they confirm that Tommy’s pregnant.”

“Shipping me where? What?”

“I don’t know where. But apparently they’re talking about turning you into a guinea pig, running test after test. I don’t think they’ll let you leave, Adam. Not until they figure out what’s so special about you.”

“But there’s nothing special about me. Why would they do anything like that?” Another thought enters my head just then, more unnerving than what I’m hearing about what will happen to me. “And what about Tommy?”

He sighs. “Okay, look, Tommy means nothing to them. He’s convenient because you’re close to him, but once he has this baby, whether boy or girl, he won’t mean a thing to them. It’s you they care about.”

“But I’m not special,” I insist.

“It’s basic biology, Adam. It’s the sperm that determines the sex of the baby. And somehow, your sperm came up with a girl. Your sperm.”

“Well, they have my sperm. I mean, I’ve jacked off at least a half dozen times for them. They can experiment all they want with that.”

“That’s not how it works and you know it. Adam, for your own good, you have to get out of here. Unless you want to spend who knows how long in a lab being dissected?"

“Well, I can’t just leave. What about Tommy?”

“What about him? He’ll be fine.”

“I can’t leave without him. I can’t just leave him here.”

“Adam, you have to leave him here. He can barely move. He won’t be able to keep up.”

He doesn’t realize that he’s being cruel. That to talk about Tommy as if he’s simply something I can discard hurts more than anything else he’s said so far. “If I do this. If I go . . . well, I’m not doing it without him.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re being stupid.”

“Well, what would you do if it was Frank in that bed? You’re telling me you could walk away from him?”

“That’s not fair.”

“Yeah, really? Well, what’s fair about any of this?” I ask. “You wouldn’t leave Frank and I’m not leaving Tommy.”

“And what if Tommy doesn’t want to go? Then what?”

That stops me cold. The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind, but now that it’s there, I can’t seem to erase it. What will I do if he says no? And is it even fair of me to ask?

You’re throwing too much at me,” I say, my voice just on the edge of a shout. “Shit, give me a fucking minute to think about this. Fuck!”

Gerard backs away, body curling almost protectively. Almost immediately, I regret my outburst. Great, I’ve just hurt the feelings of the one person who is completely on my side. Just great.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Gerard. This is just . . . I’ve got to think about this. I need a little time.”

“Well, you don’t have much - just until they can do a pregnancy test. Then you’re out of choices and time, Adam.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Though the thought of basically being imprisoned is not a pleasant one, I know I won’t make this decision without Tommy. I can’t. We’ve come too far, been through too much together for me to do this on my own.

I wait until he’s awake before I sit down on the edge of his bed to take his hands in mine. Then I proceed to tell him what Gerard told me.

I watch as the emotions transform his face. From curious to disturbed to worried and afraid - each one as easy to read as guideposts along a highway.

He chews at his lip as he looks to the side. “Shit. Okay . . . We’re going to have to leave soon. But where? And how?”

“We?” I ask, and maybe my voice is a little too high, a little too hopeful. “Together?”

“Well, yeah. You can’t stay here and . . . wait, you didn’t think I’d let you go alone, did you?”

“I wasn’t sure . . . I didn’t want to assume.”

“Where you go, I go, Adam,” he says, voice firm and unwavering.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I love you remember?”

Could it really be that simple? Is this what love does? Makes the questions and doubts go away?

Yes, I think to myself. Yes, I think it does.

“Yeah. I seem to remember that.” I kiss down from his cheek to his jaw, taking my time, inch by inch. “I love you too.”

I allow myself to bask in his heat, the feel of his skin against mine for a long time. Things feel so normal when I’m this close to him, and I can forget that our lives are a crazy, ridiculous mess. Like this, it’s just him and me and nothing else exists.

After a long moment, I pull away and address my biggest fear.

“I don’t think your body’s up for it though, baby. You’re so weak . . .”

“So be my Tarzan and carry me when I can’t go anymore.”

“I don’t want to risk you, honey. We could stay. I’d rather stay here and be their guinea pig than to see you get hurt.”

“I’ll be fine,” he insists. “Maybe I can’t do it now but give me a couple of days and I will.”

“Are you sure?”

“Where you go, I go.”

There’s a lump in my throat, thick enough that I have to swallow past it to talk. “I love you. So much.”

I can’t seem to stop saying the words now. I don’t want to stop saying them. Ever.

“I love you too.” He falls to me, his mouth catching mine in a kiss. I open up to him, allowing him to take what he needs, allowing him to take this where he needs it to go. What starts out as tender and sweet soon grows into something yearning and desperate and I can only moan into his mouth as his teeth drag into me. My fingers clutch at the back of his hospital gown, scrabbling until they find skin and still it’s not enough.

I still want more; more of him, more of his taste, more of his touch.

He pulls away abruptly, smiling, his eyes heavy-lidded, his pupils blown wide. I gasp, trying to catch my breath, my fingers touching where my mouth still stings.

“Now,” he says, breathing in deep. “We just have to think of a plan,” he says.

I’m still a little too turned on to think properly, my gears unable to shift as quickly as Tommy’s apparently can. “A plan?”

“Well, we can’t just walk out of here. We’re going to need a lot of help. Help and money.”

“That’s easier said than done, Tommy.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I think my parents can help with money. And we’ve got some in the bank from the stipends. And maybe Gerard can help with getting out of here and . . .”

His voice trails off when he realizes that I’m staring at him. He crinkles his nose as he eyes me suspiciously. “What?”

“You’re kind of sexy when you’re all smart and plotty,” I say, waggling my eyebrows at him, though really, I’m mostly serious. Right now, he’s sexy as hell.

He bats at my arm as he laughs. “Shut up and focus.”

So I do and for the next few hours, we do nothing but work out exactly how we’re going to get out of here.

With, possibly, a few small interruptions for some very necessary kissing.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Five days pass before all the elements of our plan come together and we’re ready to move forward.

Tommy and I sit on the edge of the bed, waiting for the start of the first phase of the plan, the nightly shift change, to happen. Tommy’s dressed in real clothes for the first time in months and he looks healthier than he has in a long time. This surprises me almost as much as it makes me happy; it’s almost as if he’s willed himself to be well.

It’s nearly midnight, almost time now. My foot, tapping continuously on the floor, is the only indication of my jangled nerves. Apparently it’s enough however, because Tommy places his hand on my knee and pushes down in an effort to still it. “Stop that,” he says. “You’re driving me crazy.”

“Sorry. I didn’t realize I was doing it.”

“It’s going to be fine. You know that, right? You don’t have to be nervous.”

“I can’t help it. There are so many things that could go wrong. If we get caught . . .”

“We won’t,” he says. “This is going to work. It has to.”

There’s an undercurrent of desperation in his voice that I choose to ignore. It hints at failure and belies his words. I focus instead on him and how strong he is and how much I admire him. “I love you,” I tell him.

I’ve become very free with those words lately. I’d been starting to wonder if I’d ever find the person that I would want to declare that to. If I’m really being honest, I think I had stopped looking.

He smiles, his face losing some of the tension that had been keeping it so rigid. “I love you, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.”

That leads to a small kiss, nothing more than his lips against mine. But that leads to another, which leads to another and soon I can’t get enough, taking him in my arms and bending him backward to taste more of him.

“Hey, save that for later, guys. We have to work to do.”

We pull away, both turning to see Frank standing just inside the room. He looks almost exactly how I remember him. He’s shorter than Tommy, but stockier, with a pixie-like face and soft brown eyes and an easy smile. His hair is the only thing that’s different. It’s dark, darker than Gerard’s even, but longer now so that it touches his shoulders.

Tommy blushes crimson. “Sorry.”

“Just kidding, man.” He walks over to me and wraps his arms around me, pulling me into a tight embrace. “It’s nice to see you again, Adam.”

“Yeah, same here,” I say, hugging back just as hard. “Thanks for doing this, man. You don’t know how much this means to us.”

“My pleasure. Really. I’m just glad we can help.” He turns around. “You must be Tommy.”

Tommy nods and hold out his hand. “It’s so nice to meet you. I can’t thank you enough for-”

Tommy doesn’t get to finish his sentence. He’s too busy being wrapped up in one of Frank’s infamous hugs. “Too formal, dude,” Frank says.

Tommy looks a little shocked but after a moment, he melts into it. There’s something about Frank that does this to people; once you meet him, you are instantly a friend.

“You guys ready?” he asks.

We both nod in the affirmative.

“Good, then let’s get you out of here.”

Frank is an important part of this plan being a success. He’s been at the hospital often enough to visit Gerard that no one will question his being here. And he knows the place well enough that he can lead us out of it without being caught by either people or cameras.

We follow him to the nurses’ station, to where Gerard has been waiting for us. Both Tommy and I hug him as well, thanking him over and over.

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” he says, squirming out of our holds. “Now let’s get on with this. You only have until somebody comes and relieves me for lunch, remember?”

Of course we do. We are both very well aware that we have four, maybe five hours maximum before our escape is discovered. Still, despite the urgency, we all stand there, all of us seemingly unwilling to move forward.

The reason for our hesitancy speaks as to how distasteful the next part of the plan is. It requires that I basically assault Gerard and leave him tied up, thereby giving him an alibi so that he cannot be blamed for this.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” I finally say.

“Come on,” Gerard say. “You can’t chicken out now.”

Frank places his hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “Adam, I’m giving you full permission to punch my fiancé in the face.”

“But . . . ”

“Just do it already,” Gerard says. “The anticipation is worse than you hitting me is gonna be.”

So, I do it. I curl my hand into a fist and smash it into his mouth. I watch as the impact twists his body and he falls against the counter. He falls no further though, because Frank is there to catch him before he can collapse to the ground.

I’ve only ever hit one other person in my life. I was twelve at the time and Ricky Sanders was being a prick to one of my friends so I punched him. As much as I hated it then, this is so much worse. This is a friend that I’m hurting, one who’s putting his job and reputation on the line to help me.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I’m so sorry.”

“You hit hard.”

I’m ready to apologize again, so grateful that it’s over and we can get out of here when Frank pipes up and says, “Hit him again.”

All of us turn to him simultaneously, staring at him as if he’s lost his mind.

“It’s not enough, baby,” he tells Gerard. “We have to make this look real unless you want to lose your job.”

“But he hits hard, Frank,” Gerard says.

“Just one more time. I’ll take really good care of you afterwards, I promise.”

I look to Tommy for an answer, my eyes pleading with him to tell me no. But he shakes his head and turns away and says, “Just do it, Adam.”

This time I hit higher so that my fist smashes against his nose. There’s blood this time, an almost alarming amount, but after a few moments, Gerard mutters that he’s fine and we have no choice to but believe him.

Together, we all help him into the back room of the nurses’ station where I proceed to tie his wrists to one of the metal shelving units.

I kneel down in front of him and brush his hair from his eyes. “You sure you’re going to be okay?” I ask.

“I’ll be fine. Frank’ll take care of me after,” he says. It’s hard to understand him, his nose sounds so stuffy I have to wonder if I didn’t break it. “You guys need to get going.”

“We can’t ever thank you enough for this,” Tommy says.

Gerard gives a curt nod though his eyes are kind. “You’re welcome. Now get the hell out of here.”

Frank drops to his knees in front of Gerard just as I stand. “I’ll see you later, baby,” he says.

“You so owe me.”

“A broken nose adds character,” he says. His tone is light, but there’s no mistaking the worry in his eyes. He places a brief kiss atop Gerard’s forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Gerard says.

Tommy and I turn away then, both of us understanding that this moment is not meant for us.

After another few seconds, Frank stands and clears his throat, drawing our attention back to him. He manages a tight smile as he says, “Let’s get out of here.”

We follow as Frank leads us through the hospital, taking us through hallways, past the cameras, past the hospital workers that suddenly seem all too sinister.

We slip out through a side door, near the emergency room entrance and walk along the side of the building for several yards before we come to a parked car.

My car.

“Your chariot awaits,” Frank says, handing me the keys with a flourish.

I grab the keys, staring at them for a moment before looking up to him. This is actually going to happen. This might actually possibly work. “How do I thank you for this?”

“Simple. You get away and you and Tommy live a good life.”

“It’s that easy?” I ask.

Frank smiles. “It’s that easy.”

I gain a little strength from that smile, from the confidence with which he speaks his words. When I bring him in for a farewell hug, it’s with the knowledge that I might never see him again. It’s bittersweet, and I’m pretty sure that I hold him too tightly. I watch, a moment later, as Tommy does the same.

Then we climb into the car and drive away, leaving Frank waving at us by the side of the building.

We make only one quick stop and that’s at the bank to pull our money from the automated machines. We share a look as we get back into the car, part hopeful and part terrified, both of us thinking the same thing.

Freedom awaits us on the other side of the ocean. Freedom and our chance at a new life. But we have to get there first. And that’s going to be the hard part.

Tommy’s quiet as I maneuver us through the city’s streets, his head turned toward the window. He’s quiet enough that I begin to worry, afraid that this was too much, too soon for his body.

I reach over and give his thigh a gentle squeeze. “Baby, you okay?”

He doesn’t turn when he answers. “Yeah, it’s just . . . I’d almost forgotten that there’s a real world out here.”

“A shitty one,” I say, my voice more than a little bitter.

“No,” he says, his gaze moving from the window to me. “Flawed maybe. But it’s still pretty wonderful.”

He falls silent after that, falling asleep soon after. It’s just as well, we have a long way to go and he needs the rest. I let him sleep, not waking him until we’re an hour outside of our destination.

San Diego . . . or, more specifically, its docks.

Its ships.

It’s a strange feeling, being back here. I remember so little of this city, I was so young when we left it, but it’s still a part of my past. It’s still a place I once called home.

I drive us down unfamiliar streets, following Tommy’s directions as he reads from the map that Frank provided for us. I feel the pressure of time now, more so than before. They must have discovered that we’ve escaped by now, must realize what we’re trying to do. But where will they look? It’s the only thing on our side now, the fact that there’s no possible way they will know where to search for us.

We pull up at the docks just as the sun is truly starting to rise.

The plan is to travel by boat to Canada, and from there . . . well, from there is still a mystery, but at least we’ll have a little more breathing room to decide. This all would have been faster on a plane, of course, but planes have huge negatives attached to them. For one thing, air travel has become so expensive as to make it inaccessible to nearly everyone but the very rich. For another thing, there are so few flights anymore that it would have been difficult to book one. We would have been waiting for days. Traveling by boat has become the new way to go, these old cruise ships that can hold thousands of people at a time, making tickets fairly cheap and accessible.

It takes us a few minutes to locate Tommy’s parents. They’re standing beside their own car, waiting for us, waving us over when they see us driving through the lot.

It’s not the way I wanted to meet them. I was hoping to take the time to get to know them, get to know the people who raised the man I love. I was hoping for embarrassing childhood pictures and even more embarrassing teenage stories. But there’s so little time now, and unfortunately, this one brief moment is all we have.

Tommy hugs them both in turn. He’s crying and they’re crying and for a moment I wonder if what I’m doing isn’t the wrong thing. Maybe I’m just being selfish for taking Tommy away from his parents. They obviously need him and he obviously needs them, so what gives me the right to break them apart?

“Adam,” Tommy says, pulling away from them and coming to stand at my side. “These are my dads, Bill and Max.”

I extend my hand to shake theirs, but am brought into two separate bear hugs instead. This can only be a good sign, I think to myself as I’m enveloped in what feels like warm and accepting arms.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m sorry it’s come to this. I’m so sorry.”

Bill places his hand against my cheek. “Just take good care of him, Adam. That’s all we ask. Just take good care of him.”

I can hear Tommy mutter the word ‘dad’ from somewhere behind me. I can imagine him rolling his eyes; can imagine the blush coloring his cheeks.

“I will. I promise. I love your son more than anything.”

“We know,” Max says. He looks like Tommy, has the same wide, brown eyes, the same sharp cheekbones. “And we know how much he loves you.”

Now it’s my turn to blush. But before I can think of how to respond, Tommy tugs at my sleeve, pulling me back to him.

“We need to go,” he says. “We don’t have much time now.”

Tommy’s right. We haven’t spent enough time with them but we’ve somehow spent too much.

They quickly hand over the tickets to the ship, along with a wallet filled with cash and a suitcase with clothing for the both of us.

I try to tell them it’s too much but they wave my protest away with tear-filled hugs and kisses.

It’s hard to walk away but we finally do. Tommy leans heavily against me as we make our way over to the ship. His strength is faltering; the pain too easily evident across his face and my only goal now is to get him into our little room so he can rest.

I understand it used to be difficult to do this, to travel out of the country. You used to need special identification called passports, have to pass through inspection points at both exits and entryways.

Now, with the world apparently teetering on the edge of collapse, nobody cares. There are more important things to worry about than who’s crossing into who’s borders. This works in our favor. All we have to do is flash our tickets and we’re allowed on board.

My muscles begin to unlock, tension slowly draining out as soon as we enter the ship proper, but I don’t allow myself to fully relax until much later. Not until Tommy’s lying in bed and the ship has finally left the dock.

It’s then that I crawl into bed beside him, careful not to jostle him, careful not to hurt him in any way.

He turns his head to me as he links his hand with mine. “I think we might have actually pulled this off.”

I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly, enjoying the feel of freedom. But just like Frank’s goodbye, this is bittersweet. So much to look forward to, but so much left behind. “I think you might be right.”

“So, where do you think we’ll end up?”

“Not sure. But wherever it is, it’ll be wonderful, cause you’ll be there.”

He smiles, his laugh the near giggle of a child. “You are so sappy, you know that?”

I laugh too, but I turn serious soon enough. “You’re sure about this, Tommy? You’re really sure? Because it’s not too late, you know. You can take another ship back to the States when we get to Canada. You can go back to your parents. You don’t have to-“

He stops my babbling with a kiss. Nothing more than a whisper of his lips against mine, but it’s enough to get me to be quiet.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, Adam.”

I cuddle in, just a little closer, wanting to be as near as I can.

“I love you,” I whisper.

“I love you,” he whispers right back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The entire world rejoiced when, three months ago, a girl was born. The first one since the plague, she was lauded as both a modern day miracle and the dawning of a new age. Tommy and I rejoiced as well, not only because of what this meant for the human race but also because of what this meant for us.

We were no longer special.

I was no longer special.

That first girl was born in Australia. The second was born in France. The third was born in Las Vegas.

Mine? Possibly. They did have my sperm after all.

But it doesn’t matter. I will never know nor do I care.

There are many saying that God has forgiven our sins and returned at last. Suddenly, churches that have long stood empty and useless are now filled to capacity with the newly righteous.

Conversely, there have been drunken celebrations lasting weeks, parties in the streets that would put old Rome to shame.

Tommy and I have witnessed all of this from our small corner of the world. Here, in England, in a seaside village called Clovelly. It’s beautiful here, the way the cliffs touch the sea, the way the bright houses dot the hillside like flowers . . . It’s the perfect model of a picturesque village, the kind I only thought existed in old paintings and books.

But more importantly, it’s small and it’s peaceful. And we needed that peace, especially once we found out that Tommy was pregnant yet again. We needed a quiet place to rebuild, a place where we could devote most of our time to ensuring that the third time would be the charm.

Thanks to my experience with the restaurant, I was able to find a job assisting the local baker. It’s not fancy and I don’t make a lot of money, but it’s enough to get us by. Thankfully, the stipends that we were given from the US government have helped tremendously.

A bit ironic how that all worked out.

We’re miles away from our families and friends and while we do miss them, we’re not lonely. We have each other and that would be enough, but we also have our friends and neighbors in the village. They’ve taken us in as if we were long-lost family, not minding that we’re Americans, not questioning why we keep so much to ourselves or why don’t share details about our lives.

It’s a good place, Clovelly. Good enough that Tommy and I have even considered staying here permanently.

But that’s a conversation for another time. For now, I’m back to playing a role that’s all too familiar – concerned boyfriend, sitting next to Tommy, holding his hand and trying to coax him from his drugged sleep.

But at least this time, I have good news to give.

He’s been trying to wake for a few minutes now. I can see that it’s a fight for him, that he’s struggling to come back from whatever oblivion he’s been ensconced in. I can also tell that this time, he’s going to succeed. I squeeze his hand and tell him to stop messing around, that I want to see his pretty brown eyes. Then I whisper, right against the shell of his ear, that he has something to come back for and to hurry the hell up.

I like to think it’s my added incentive that does the trick. As I watch, his eyes open, focusing briefly on the ceiling before his tired gaze moves to me.

“The baby . . .” he asks. He mouths the words, but his throat, too dry for too long, cannot form the sounds.

“First this,” I say. I lift a cup to his lips, straw already in place, and urge him to drink. He tries to turn away, but I insist. As he starts to sip, I say, “She’s fine, honey. She’s fine.”

I pull the cup away and watch as his face begins to light up with cautious joy.

“She?” he asks.

We hadn’t known, choosing to refuse the ultrasounds that would have given it away. Our doctor hadn’t understood, he’d wondered why we didn’t want to know if the baby was developing normally. We never bothered to explain, just stood firm as we told him that it wasn’t going to happen. In the end, he respected our decision, though he did manage to find a way to call us crazy Americans every chance he got.

“Yeah. We have a baby girl.” I break into a smile. “You did it, Tommy. You did it.”

He remembers none of it, of course. The last thing he was aware of was being wheeled into the operating room and being put under. He doesn’t remember when the complications started or how he started to hemorrhage as his blood pressure dropped dangerously low. He doesn’t know that they had to cut the baby out in an effort to save them both.

He doesn’t remember having to fight for his life.

“Is she okay?”

“She’s healthy and beautiful and perfect.”

He brings a hand to his mouth, his voice breaking on the words when he simply says, “Oh god.”

“Don’t cry, baby.”

But it’s too late. The tears are there, but underneath them, there is a smile.

“I want to see her. Can I see her?”

“Yeah. She’s right here.” I stand and gently take her from her bassinet. She’s sleeping and barely stirs when I pick her up. I make sure that she’s wrapped up tight in her blanket before I place her in Tommy’s waiting arms. He’s too weak to really hold her, so I place her snug against his chest, using my own hand to cradle the back of her delicate head to keep her still.

“Meet your daughter, Tommy.”

“Oh, baby girl,” he murmurs. He’s looking at her as if she’s the most amazing thing he’s ever seen, as if he never wants to take his eyes off of her. It’s pretty much the way I’ve been looking at her since she was born.

“My baby girl. My beautiful little baby girl.”

He coos at her, silly, little nonsense words as he rubs his nose against her forehead, craving her touch. After a few minutes, he manages to tear his gaze away from her to look at me. “Our baby girl.”

“Ours.” My free hand comes to rest against Tommy’s cheek. “Ours.”

“She has your hair,” he says. “It’s so thick and pretty.”

‘Yeah, well, she has your eyes.”

“I wouldn’t know, she hasn’t opened them,” he says, chuckling before the pain in his abdomen brings about a wince. “Oh, I shouldn’t do that.”

I start to pull away, ready to take her with me. “I should get the doctor,” I tell him.

“Just one more minute, okay? Let me just hold her for a minute.”

I settle back down, sitting on the edge of the bed. Then I watch them both, the man I intend to marry and our precious little girl and my heart twists in my chest so completely that it’s hard to breathe.

“She needs a name,” he says. “We never talked about a name.”

He’s looking too pale suddenly, pain flashing intermittently across his face. I should get the doctor, and I will, but first . . .

“I was thinking . . . maybe the name Hope?” I’m almost hesitant to say it aloud, as if I’m giving away a secret.

“Hope?” He looks from me to her. “Yeah. That’s a good name for her. Hope.” He smiles and with one shaky hand, touches her tiny nose. “That’s your name now, okay?”

She gurgles and scrunches up her nose and both Tommy and I laugh, taking that as an affirmative.

Hope.

It’s more than just a name, of course. Fitting, because it’s an anthem for what’s left of this decimated world. It’s the reason why our doctor and the entire hospital staff have been celebrating since her birth. It’s the reason why there are reporters camped outside the hospital and why the Prime Minister came to the hospital two days ago to shake my hand.

But Tommy is unaware of any of this. He will be, soon enough, but for now her name is meaningful only for what it means to him. To us.

To us she is special because she is our daughter and the completion of our family. And that’s something the rest of the world, no matter how greedy and desperate for more, can never touch.

Tommy looks up at me. “I don’t want to ever let her go.”

“You won’t have to, honey. You won’t ever have to.”


End file.
